Tied With A Silver Chain
by Commandante Theresa
Summary: AU Captain Swan. Pirate Killian/Princess Emma. Smutty. When Princess Emma is captured by the dreaded Captain Hook, she learns he's the same man who broke into her castle & seduced her 2 years ago. Head over heels in love , yet betrothed to a tyrant's son, can Killian save her, or will their forbidden passion destroy not only themselves but the Enchanted Forest too? No curse.
1. Say My Name

Chapter One: Say My Name

The crew of the merchant vessel _Enchanted Island_ had quickly surrendered as the pirate ship approached swiftly and stealthily out of the fog on the starboard side. There was no way to outrun her and the ship's captain knew he was outgunned and outmanned well before the first warning shot across the bow and the sight of the crimson flag. Quickly hoisting a white flag of surrender, the pirates swarmed over the side, rounding up prisoners and ransacking the hold for treasure, which they found in abundance. The _Island_ appeared to be carrying extremely expensive luxury goods and other commodities and had been heading northeast when it was attacked.

The pirate crew was a rough and fearsome lot, many wearing dreadful face paint and bearing hideous scars and markings meant to intimidate their foes. They roughly shoved the captive crewmen onto the pirate ship where they stood, huddled together and awaiting their fate.

A tall burly man who appeared to be in charge bawled out a single command: "On your knees for the Captain!" At that, the other pirates began roughly pushing the terrified crew to their knees. All of them cowered, heads lowered, most visibly shaking and moaning prayers to their various gods for mercy. One of the smaller boys, dressed in a rough, knitted seaman's cap pulled down low over his face, knelt silently, with his dirty, grime-smeared face lowered respectfully. His rough breeches and tunic shirt were torn in places and covered in filth. He was obviously the lowest of a low bunch of total scum.

A tall, elegant man dressed from head to toe in black leather descended languidly down the stairs to the lower deck and began to walk – ever so slowly - down the line of cowed prisoners. Each deliberate step, each footfall, seemed more menacing than the last. The ominous tread was like the tolling of a bell, dreadful in its inexorable quality. As the tension mounted, the gibbering cries for mercy ascended and a few men pissed themselves in fear.

"Which one of you is the _former _captain of that ship?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"I am," said Atkins, clearing his throat nervously.

"And do you know who _I _am?' the man in black asked softly.

"Y-y-yes sir," stammered Atkins, sweat beginning to pour down his face.

"Then say it."

"W-w-hat, sir?"

"You know. SAY IT," hissed the Captain in a voice so filled with barely contained violence that the praying and gibbering crewmembers lapsed into total, stunned silence.

"SAY…..MY…NAME!"

"Hook," whispered Atkins, his knees finally giving way and collapsing beneath him.

"You're goddamn right!"

"Good," he said, in a more cordial tone. "That's very, very good. Now, here is how it's going to be. I will spare your miserable lives because and only because you surrendered. Any skilled sailor willing and able to join my crew and work for his own benefit instead of some rich ignorant lord or greedy merchant will be welcome. You'll get your fair share of every haul, and it should pay for all the rum and whores you require, maybe a nice little retirement after a while. The rest of you can work off your debt to me for the rest of the voyage and we will put you off at the next port. Is that clear?"

He pointed at one of the more rotund crewmen. "You there – what's your job?"

"I'm the cook, sir."

"Are you any bloody good at it?"

"Yessir."

"Well, that's fine then. We lost our cook recently in an…unfortunate accident. We'll give you a go, just try not to poison anybody."

"Thankee, sir, mos kinley fer sparin' me life."

"Anyone else with any useful skills? Carpentry? Sail making? Clerk?" He walked up and down the line, his long black leather coat swirling theatrically around him, regarding each of the crewmen to assess their skill level. By now, most of them had dared to raise their eyes, not only relieved but morbidly curious to behold the legendarily murderous and dreadful Captain Hook.

The boy in the seaman's hat, however, kept his eyes respectfully lowered, evidently too frightened to raise his eyes. But something about him caught the Captain's eye and he paused midstride, turning on his heel and stepping closer to look down at the cowering boy. "You there, boy, what's your job?"

"Scullery boy," he said hoarsely, in a barely audible whisper.

"Look at me when I address you boy!" roared the Captain.

The boy slowly raised his eyes, from the pointy, shiny leather boots, up to the muscular, leather clad thighs, then to the shirt and bejeweled waistcoat, open to reveal a mass of dark chest hair, sea talismen hanging from his neck. He was a fine figure of a man, strapping, lean, and toned from the rigors of fighting and life at sea. The sun was behind the Captain's head and blinded him for a moment until his eyes adjusted, and then he saw the sharp metal hook where the left hand should be, the sunlight glinting off its sharp point. The other hand was whole and sported a series of large rings that looked like they could do serious damage should one have the misfortune to be struck in any area of soft tissue. Finally, his eyes rose sufficiently to rest on the Captain's face itself. He was by far the handsomest man the boy had ever seen, with a fine bone structure, nearly black hair and closely trimmed facial scruff. For him, the saying "handsome as the Devil" might have been coined. He looked magnificent and terrifying all at the same time. When the boy's eyes finally reached the Captain's kohl-rimmed eyes, a dazzling color of blue like the sea and the sky combined into one, the boy gasped sharply and froze.

Quick as a flash, the captain reached down and hauled the boy to his feet. He leaned in close as he held the boy's eyes with his piercing blue stare in a manner not unlike an Eastern snake charmer holding a cobra immobilized by the sheer force of his gaze.

"You!" the boy whispered involuntarily.

At this, the Captain tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder and began to lean in closer. Bringing his lips down to the boy's ear, he whispered, so softly none could hear but they, "Did you miss me, darling?"


	2. Masquerade

Chapter Two: Masquerade

_Two years earlier._

Emma Swan was bored. The party hosted by her parents, Prince Charming and Queen Snow White, had been going on all day. It started in the afternoon with a feast in the palace gardens and ended late in the evening at a Grande Masquerade Ball which was to be followed by a formal breakfast lasting until dawn. The ball was intended to mark their daughter Emma's eighteenth birthday and official coming of age.

At first she had been excited by the glamor, mystery and games surrounding the masquerade part of the festivities. Naturally she came as the Swan Princess, wearing a beautiful gown of soft white feathers and a jeweled silver swan mask over her face to go with it. Now she was beginning to tire of making polite conversation with her parents' friends and dancing with the various young men who vied for her attention. Most of them were well meaning but half grown, awkward, and too immature to interest her. Even the goodlooking ones were so nervous around her they had trouble keeping up an interesting dialogue. They stammered and fussed about her until she thought she would scream. Maybe, she considered, she could slip away quietly through the garden and escape for a few minutes.

Lost in her own thoughts, she missed the last point made by her dance partner. "I'm sorry," she said to the older gentleman now guiding her along the floor, "what were you saying?" Just then, the music mercifully ended. She thanked him politely, then began making her way discreetly toward the nearest open door.

"May I have this dance," a voice murmured behind her.

"I'm sorry," she began, "I just need to get some…." Turning to speak to her would-be partner, she stopped suddenly.

Dressed smartly in a formfitting, black, tailed jacket, dove grey waistcoat, and white silk shirt open at the neck, he wore a matching bejeweled black mask that covered the upper part of his face. His eyes behind the mask were a dazzling shade of clearest blue. They were so mischievous and beautiful Emma could feel herself being sucked into their depths, helpless, like a drowning man pulled under by a strong riptide.

Without bothering to wait for an answer, he placed her hand in his, put his left hand low on her waist, and swept her into the circling couples. Flustered, she quickly collected herself to ask, as neutrally as possible, "Are we acquainted?"

He looked amused for a moment, then leaned in close to her to murmur, "Perhaps yes, perhaps no, but it matters not. I eagerly look forward to getting _intimately _acquainted with you – _all _of you - this evening." Then he smirked at her. She flushed scarlet as she digested the meaning of his obscene suggestion. Outraged by his presumption and flagrant rudeness, she fought to maintain her self-control to avoid a scene that might embarrass her parents. "How dare you speak to me like that," she smiled through gritted – and bared- teeth. "And unhand me instantly. You are holding me too closely."

In response, he laughed and pulled her hips against his even more snugly. She was horrified to realize not only that she could feel his masculine hardness beginning to press against her through the light material of her dress, but she could feel excitement beginning to rise inside herself as well. The room felt hot and she fought the urge to grind up against him in return. It was mortifying to feel so under the control of a mere man, and an impertinent one at that.

Although inexperienced, Emma was intelligent enough to realize the stranger possessed a powerful sexual charisma and was using it to toy with her. Angered by the feeling that she was out of her depth, she fought to control herself. "Let me go," she said in an even voice, "or I swear I will scream and make a terrible scene."

"A terrible scene! Oh my, love, so menacing! Chills!" he laughed at her. "Besides, you won't scream, you're enjoying yourself too much."

Against her better judgment, she was intrigued. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I've been watching you, my sweetheart, all evening. You've been bored out of your skull by the boring old men and spotty boys mincing around you. You need to dance with a partner who knows how to handle a beautiful and spirited woman like you."

"And how, exactly, should I be 'handled'" she demanded archly. Good God, she was practically flirting with him now.

"Why, expertly, of course. With patience, firm discipline, and preferably _all_ night long." he said in a low tone, running his tongue slowly across his bottom lip.

"You disgust me."

By this point their exchange had become so heated they had ceased dancing entirely. He had managed to maneuver her artfully into a dark, secluded alcove just off the main ballroom. They stood locked together and his arms slid around her as his eyes stayed locked on hers, holding her with their magnetic pull. The room felt even hotter, her breathing shallow, and the rising sensations between her legs and in her belly made her want to squirm, scream, tear her clothes off, anything to get release.

"You know who I am," she panted, "I don't even know your name!"

"Where's the fun in that?" he mocked.

"What are you even doing here? Who ARE you?" she blustered, struggling with her composure.

"Well, darling, I can tell you two things about me – firstly, I am devilishly handsome. And second, I am the finest swordsman in all the realms."

At that she finally gathered herself sufficiently, put both hands on his chest, and pushed him away as hard as she could. "You're just baiting me, and besides, you're a liar. Everyone knows my father is the finest swordsman alive. You cannot possibly be serious!"

He moved in closely again, invading her space and causing her to back up slightly, feeling the wall against her back. Leaning his head down towards her, he murmured softly, "oh, how you wrong me, love. Of course I am serious! I _am _devilishly handsome. And as for my swordsmanship, I can promise you, when I jab you with my sword, _you'll feel it."_

She felt his hot breath on her face, and he smelled a strong masculine smell of spirits, leather, horses, and dirty sex, or what she imagined dirty sex might smell like. Pulling her hands above her head, he pinned them easily with his left hand. With his right, he gathered up her hair, wrenched her neck back to raise her face towards his, and crushed his lips into hers. He ravaged her mouth, plundering and pillaging with his tongue and biting at her lower lip. He began kissing and biting along her jawline and down the side of her delicate white neck. "Mmmmm," he breathed, "You smell of strawberries…." She felt his knee forcing open her legs and she ground against it, almost desperate to get relief from the sensations that overwhelmed her. When he returned to her lips, he dropped her trapped arms and she kissed him back just as violently, even desperately, tangling her hands in his hair.

Suddenly, he stopped, stepping away from her slightly. He reached out and in a tender and intimately proprietary gesture, rearranged a few tendrils of hair around her shoulders. "There's a good girl, all tidy again," he grinned impishly, then leaned in to plant a soft, chaste peck on her hungry, kiss-bruised lips. "I so enjoyed our dance, Your Highness," he bowed slightly, "I hope we meet again." In an instant, he vanished, disappearing through an open door into the darkness of the garden beyond.


	3. You Could Be My Silver Spring

**SO SORRY FOR THE EARLIER FORMATTING ISSUES WITH THIS CHAPTER! NO CLUE WHAT HAPPENED!**

Chapter 3

You Could Be My Silver Spring

After leaving Emma, the handsome stranger walked quietly, hidden by the darkness, around to the side of the castle. Pausing for a few moments in the dense shrubbery near the entrance to the servant's hall, he peeled off his mask, jacket, and elegant waistcoast, donning instead the dark green livery of the household staff. His contact inside the castle had left it for him as per their prearrangement, after first briefing him thoroughly on the interior palace layout. Slipping through the door, he slipped noiselessly down the empty hallway. All of the servants were either upstairs serving the guests at the ball or down in the kitchens below.

Killian hadn't intended to tarry so long with the Princess, and even by his own standards the brazenness and risk of his actions was beyond foolhardy. But as he mingled politely among the other guests, waiting for his opportunity to strike, he had been fascinated by her, unable to avert his gaze. Her long golden tresses fell down her back and caught the light shining from the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom. She moved gracefully, and the curves of her body, the swell of her creamy breasts over the top of her gown had excited him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time, possibly ever. Her red, Cupid's bow lips looked incredibly luscious – they virtually begged to be kissed. He imagined what it would look like, feel like, to see those luscious lips wrapped around his throbbing cock. He imagined her lithe body writhing under him as he fucked her hard as she begged him for more and screamed out his name. Staring at her with the identical, hungry expression a starving wolf might regard a tender young gazelle, he began to feel aroused, and drew himself back into the shadows to compose himself. When he saw her part her rosy lips and moisten them delicately with her tongue, he audibly groaned and turned away.

"Idiot!" he thought. He did not have the time to waste nor run the risk of any distraction if he was to accomplish his mission that night. He had to stop behaving like a schoolboy and focus on the task at hand. Sex could wait until later and he intended to fully sate himself later, possibly with two or even three whores. He turned to leave but just as he did so he found himself standing directly behind her as she made her escape from her elderly dance partner.

Unable to stop himself, he'd foolishly asked her to dance instead. He felt himself overcome by the need to touch her – just once! – while he had the only opportunity he was ever likely to experience again. Masking his confusion with his usual bravado and shameless flirting, he felt a jolt of electricity when he took her in his arms and pressed her – indecently – into him. She felt like heaven. He'd enjoyed their repartee during the dance immensely, admiring her boldness, even coolness under his baiting. But later, in the alcove, the responsiveness of her body and the violent passion of her kisses threatened to undo him completely. She was obviously sexually inexperienced and naïve, but he sensed with proper training – _his _training – she would be a fiery hellcat in bed. His desire for her overwhelmed him to the point he feared he would pull up her dress, throw her against the wall, and fuck her senseless right then and there. He wanted to consume her completely. It was only the thought of the hangman's noose that allowed him to regain sufficient control to break away. Although covering up his abrupt departure with his usual panache and smirking good manners, he had, for all intents and purposes, fled.

"What was I thinking?" he groaned to himself, knowing he hadn't thought at all. He was foremost a man of action, after all, and this time his body had triumphed over his good sense and done the "thinking" instead.

He dodged into a back staircase just as he caught sight of a footman coming towards him with a silver tray full of crystal goblets. Mounting the stairs to the third floor, he looked outside cautiously. No one was in the hall and it was as still as a tomb. Quietly, he opened a door just to the left beyond the stairs and entered an empty bedchamber. Finding no one there, he stealthily made his way to the small dressing room and wardrobe adjacent to the chamber. He had to open a few cupboards and ransack a trunk before he finally found the object of his adventure: a small ornate jewel casket. "Hello, beautiful," he murmured, "let's open you up and see your treasures."

There it was. The fabled Emerald of Theodosius. It was a legendary jewel said to have magical properties of healing and one of the largest, most perfect such stones ever mined by the dwarves. It was in the possession of one young Lord Norbrook Quill, heir to a vast ducal fortune and an aspiring suitor to Princess Emma, the very same Princess who had squirmed with lust under his own very own hands and lips earlier that evening. He smiled to himself. "Good luck with that, Norbrook." The young man had brought it to present to Her Highness in the event she accepted his proposal. Killian dropped the emerald into a small satchel he carried on his belt and turned to close the box. Something caught his eye near the back. He reached in to pick it up, turning it over as he did so. It was a miniature of the Princess, evidently sent to the young Lord so that he could decide whether she was beautiful enough to interest him. He regarded the miniature intently. Oh, but she was a beauty. The portrait captured her golden hair, as well as her delicate bone structure and creamy complexion. What the portrait could not do justice to was her eyes -their incandescent green color with flecks of gold, like the sea could sometimes look in the sunlight just after a storm. He could hardly believe he had held her in his arms mere moments before. Warmed by the memory of her hot kisses, Killian decided immediately to palm the miniature as a memento and trophy of their brief encounter.

So absorbed was he in the Princess's portrait he uncharacteristically failed to hear the servant, armed with a dagger, creeping up on the villain rifling through his master's most treasured possessions.

"Stop right there and turn around slowly," said the servant, holding the dagger toward Killian. Gesturing at his green livery jacket, he shouted "Who are you? I've never seen you here before."

Killian smiled slightly. 'If that's true, if you don't know who I am, then maybe your best course… would be to tread lightly."

As Killian began to walk toward the servant, the latter panicked and slashed wildly at him with the dagger, just catching the palm of his left hand. Killian jumped back and while the man was off balance from his wild swing of the dagger, he decked him the face with a hard right cross to the jaw. Staggering from the blow, Killian seized the servant and rammed his head into the side of the wardrobe. The man sank to the floor, out cold.

"Bloody hell!" he thought, "This is all I need."

Fearing others might have heard the man's shouts and sounds of a struggle, he dared not exit through the door but instead bolted outside to the balcony. His eyes searched for a drainpipe, a vine, a ledge, a tree – anything – but there was nothing to give purchase and he didn't fancy risking a broken ankle if he jumped.

Instead, after inspecting the row of similar balconies running along the backwall of the castle, he began running. Like a cat, he leapt from one balcony ledge to the next until he had reached the very last one. When he did, he crouched behind the parapet, peering out and listening to see if the alarm had been raised yet. Everything remained quiet. Perfect, and there was a large tree growing right next to the balcony that exactly suited his requirements. He'd be away in seconds. Cautiously he began to stand up when he felt something heavy hit the back of his skull. The world turned dark and he fell back through the doors and crashed down on his back in the interior room.


	4. Blue Green Colors Flashing

Chapter 4: Blue Green Colors Flashing

Emma stood over the fallen man on the carpet of her bedchamber in shock, the candlestick she'd used to knock him out still in her hand. He didn't have his mask on, and was now wearing the livery of one her servants, but she knew immediately who he was.

It was that man. The stranger.

After he left her so abruptly, her first instinct was to bolt. She knew she was a mess, her hair in disarray, her dress disheveled, her face flushed and her heart hammering. She ran out of the side door used by the servants, bolted up the stairs, flung open her bedchamber door, slipped in and closed it behind her. Breathing heavily, she leaned her back against the door and sank slowly down, exhausted, undone with a nearly unbearable ache in her groin. Her skin crawled and burned with need and her thoughts were tortured with guilt, shame, longing and loathing. Putting aside the considerable issue of her own improper and scandalous behavior and the harm it might cause should they have been discovered, she felt unable to make sense of the jumble of feelings his lips, his hands, his mere physical presence, had aroused in her. Although he undoubtedly excited her under his skillful touch, he frightened her in a way both thrilling and utterly terrifying. As he kissed and controlled her she had felt something in him both passionate and even dark. She felt like he wanted not just to kiss her, or ravish her. She felt like he wanted to _devour_ her. But even more terrifying than that, she _wanted to be devoured._

It was this last that caused her to tremble again.

She took a couple of deep breaths, straightened her shoulders and stood to walk towards her wardrobe. She had to get the dress off! She wrenched it off along with her pantalettes and left them in a sad, wilted heap on the floor, then walked over to the ewer and basin. Pouring in some fresh water, she dipped a cloth in it to wipe the sweat from her face. She paused, then reached carefully between her legs. Great gods, her thighs and the area in between were sticky wet with her own moisture. She cleaned herself up as best she could and felt better as the sharp throbbing in her groin subsided slowly into a dull ache. She threw a light gauzy gown over her corset, too tired to unlace it herself and unwilling to ring for her maid. She was in no fit shape to see anyone. As she headed back into the dark bedchamber intending to hide under the covers, go to sleep, and try to forget the entire shaming spectacle, she heard a small rustle outside her window.

Walking silently across the thick carpet, she peered around a corner of one of the open doors and saw a man crouching behind the parapet. Without a second's pause she seized a heavy candlestick from the table, raised it over her head, and coshed the intruder over the head. Now he lay sprawled at her feet, out cold. She heard herself inhale sharply.

It was him.

Without his mask, with his eyes closed, and his arms flung wide, he looked younger and certainly more vulnerable than he had appeared earlier. Oh but he was so very handsome, even more gorgeous now that he had no mask to conceal his masculine beauty. He had a small scar on one cheek. She romantically imagined it had come from dueling, probably over a woman. Fascinated, she tentatively raised her hand to stroke his face gently, her fingers lingering lightly on the full, practically obscene, lips that had plundered hers a short time ago. He sighed contentedly at her touch and she drew back quickly. Cautiously she reached over again, this time to feel the taut muscles of his chest lying beneath the open shirt collar. What should she do with him, she wondered? Tie him up? Call the guards? Could there be a logical explanation as to why he was there? Her thoughts whirled through her tired head.

She sat back, vexed. She looked at his handsome face again. His lips had felt so good. Feeling a force greater than her own good sense seizing hold of her again, she impulsively and experimentally leaned forward to kiss him softly. For a moment it felt as if time itself stood still. It felt so good, so right, so….

She felt his muscles tighten suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and before she could open her mouth to scream or explain he seized her shoulders, flung her over on her back and straddled her hips, pinning her with his weight and clapping a hand over her mouth.

For a minute they both lay staring, out of breath. "Are you going to scream," he asked her quietly. She shook her head. "That's a good girl." He removed his hand. "Why Princess," he drawled, licking his lips, "If you wanted to get between my legs there are far easier ways! How could any gentleman, myself most of all, resist your considerable charms?"

Infuriated by his insolence and the absurdity of her position, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "You, sir," she spat, "are no gentleman." He laughed merrily and leaned down, his face touching hers. "And you, miss, are no lady," he smirked.

"If anyone is abusing the proprieties around here it's you," he continued in a conversational tone. "You're the one who took advantage of my unconscious state to, er, have your way with me."

She turned her face away from him, utterly humiliated.

"There, there, lass" he said, caressing her hair and removing a few tendrils from her face. It's all right. I tend to have that effect on women so you're not to blame. I won't tell anyone your dirty secret."

With that he got to his feet, reached towards her, and helped her to stand. As she did, she noticed suddenly that his left hand was covered in blood, and that it was dripping into the carpet. She reached for his hand. "Wait a minute, you're bleeding!"

"Just a scratch, love, I accidentally ran into a dagger on my way to visit you tonight."

"Do I even want to know the real story?" she queried. "Here, let me help you. She struck a match and lit a candle so that she could inspect the damage. "Stop squirming," she ordered him, "it looks rather nasty. I need to clean it. I've got some water but I don't know if that's going to be good enough."

"Wait a minute," he said, then reached into his back pocket and pulled a flask. "Use this." She accepted the flask and poured a little of its contents into the wound.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Rum. And a bloody waste of it." He watched as she reached onto a shelf and pulled out a delicate, fine linen hankerchief embroidered with a small swan in one corner. She folded it into a bandage, then wound it carefully around his injured hand and tied it off.

"Competent for a beginner," he remarked, "but it needs to be tighter to stanch the bleeding." With that he raised his hand higher, took one end in his white, even teeth and the other in his right hand, and slowly pulled the knot tighter, keeping his blue eyes locked on her green ones.

She wondered how he could make even wound dressing look like a sexual suggestion but made no comment.

"You know you are even more lovely than I imagined in the ballroom. Your eyes are the color of the sea just after a storm or perhaps a forest in the spring sunlight. And your attire – while the gown was indeed striking, your current state of _disabille _suits you much, much better. You look good, I must say," he leered. He continued to survey her, a predatory expression in his eyes and a wolfish grin on his face.

"What are you really doing here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, since you ask, I'm here to steal a piece of jewelry from one of your would-be swains. Norbert, Norbeck, Ethelbert, something like that."

"You mean Lord Norbrook? Is that what you are – a common thief?"

"I prefer dashing rapscallion, actually, but, yes when the occasion arises I do steal the odd jewel from the odd palace from time to time, usually on commission. But I'm a jack of many trades."

"Who did you steal this one for?" she demanded.

"Well, darling, that's a dangerous question, but I'm going to tell you because if I do, you'll know to stay well clear of the entire matter. To do otherwise could endanger your safety and I would despair if it did." The mockery was back in his voice.

"I'm listening."

"The Dark One asked me to steal it and thus, will owe me either a very large favor or a very large bag of gold. As to why, I know not and I prefer not to ask. He has his own agenda. I just do the odd job for him now and again. Ultimately, he is a businessman, as am I."

Then he paused, and suddenly, his mockery ceased and the mask dropped away. He took her hands gently. "I must thank you, Emma, most sincerely for your help. You are not only beautiful, but brave, kind and resourceful. That's a rare combination and I am in your debt."

"Well," she said finally, "it seemed like the right thing to do.

They locked gazes for a moment further, and Emma sensed something, she knew not what, pass between them, but in that moment, she saw blue green colors flashing in her mind's eye.


	5. I Would Be Your Only Dream

Chapter 5: I Would Be Your Only Dream

Suddenly there were sounds of shouting outside the castle. "Blast," Killian groaned. He stepped over to peer out of the balcony door. "There are guards everywhere! The blighter I knocked out in the other room must have come to and sounded the alarm."

More shouting was heard outside in the hallway, along with the sound of pounding feet.

Reacting instinctively, Emma pulled Killian's arm away from the door. "Quickly," she said urgently, "hide under the covers in my bed. Hurry!"

Giving her a dumbfounded look in passing, he did as he was bid and quickly jumped inside the fluffy eiderdown bedding. Emma herself jumped on the bed and stood up, frantically yanking the bedcurtains firmly all around so that they were enclosed entirely.

Then she dove under the quilts with Killian.

Someone pounded on the door. "Your Highness!" came a deep voice, "It's the Captain of the Guard. There is an intruder in the castle and your royal father has commanded me to search every room. Please let me in!"

Composing herself, Emma called out, "Come in!"

The captain entered with what sounded like one or two others. "I sincerely apologize, Highness," he said outside the curtains, "for disturbing you in this manner, but we have been ordered to check every possible hiding place."

"Of course, Captain," she said, "I know you are just doing your….oooooh!" she gave a little shriek.

"Highness? Are you all right?"

"Aaaah, oh," she gasped, "I'm just…just… so very frightened at the idea of someone breaking into the castle."

In fact, and inevitably, the minute he found himself pressed so intimately against her partially unclothed, luscious body, Killian had been too tempted to resist. Emma felt his hand begin to slide up the inside of her thigh. She elbowed him quickly but he ignored her and moved from her thigh, upward, upward, to probe the moistening folds between her legs. With his thumb, he began to stroke the small bud just above her opening. She had never felt such sensations in her life.

As they listened to the sounds of doors opening and closing in the wardrobe and dressing room, Killian became bolder, nudging her legs apart and stepping up his expert manipulations. She felt herself becoming wetter and more engorged as her excitement built. She yelped in surprise when she felt him slide a finger inside her and begin to stroke her there as well. Then he slid in a second finger and increased the tempo of his inexorable, nearly unbearable motions. She felt the tension rising in her belly and her muscles began to tighten around him.

"Highness," the guards had returned to her room, "Did you say something?"

"Nnn..ooooo," she panted, fighting to speak normally. "I –I have a bad headache. I need to…need to…. REST! OH Gods,"

"Lady, you sound ill. Shall I call your mother, or a doctor?"

"No, please, I'm fine. I just need to sleep. Tell them…tell anyone…I'm not to be disturbed!" She was practically sobbing with both fright and unbearable sexual excitement and felt like she might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

"As you command. There's no one here! Let's keep moving."

When the door mercifully closed on them at last, Emma finally did shatter into a million pieces, shuddering as wave after wave of overwhelming, mind exploding sensations picked her up and threw her violently, as a huge wave against a shore, over and over. She stuffed a section of the quilt into her mouth to muffle the sounds of her involuntary screaming until finally, spent, she lay back gasping.

Blinking stupidly, she was too weak and disoriented to object when the stranger – as she still knew him – popped out of the covers and straddled her. He gave her a very self satisfied smile, like a cat that had just lapped up a large jug of cream. "I thought I owed you something special for saving my life," he said, "and I _always_ pay my debts, love."

"What was that?

"What was what, darling?"

"What just happened to me?

"It's called many names – an orgasm, a climax, to come, to come undone, to come apart….I could go on. Don't tell me that was your first?"

She averted her eyes. "Tsk, Tsk," he tutted, "I could feel that you were still _virgo intact _but I thought you had at least explored yourself or possibly enjoyed a harmless romp in the hay with a stable boy or something. You really are very sheltered, aren't you," he said lightly caressing her cheek.

"It feels, it felt, like something magical," she marveled. "I understood that sex sometimes could be pleasurable for women, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined anything quite like that. Though I'm not sure if it was light or dark magic."

"Perhaps both? I am honored to be the first to have provided you with such a gift," he said as he reached into the open neck of her gown and began to unlace her corset. "Oh bugger," he said softly. Taking either side of her open gown, he easily ripped the garment down the middle for easier access and continued to unlace her. Freeing her from the corset, he paused for a moment, feasting his eyes on her beautiful white breasts and pink nipples. "Gods, you're beautiful," he breathed. He began to stroke and squeeze her nipples until they stood up into hard buds. As he did so, she gasped again, as the pleasure in her nipples seemed to seep down directly into her belly and inflame her again. He began to gently nip and suck on her breasts, causing her to groan.

"What are you doing to me?" she wondered, dreamily gazing at his tumbled dark hair.

"Why, pleasuring you, of course." He resumed his leisurely nibbling and sucking of her breasts and then began kissing her belly, each nip and kiss lower than the last until finally, he spread her legs and settled himself between her thighs. He shocked her to her very core as he began to kiss and lick her dripping wet folds.

Emma almost passed out from the sheer pleasure of his hot, greedy mouth and probing tongue on her most tender and private areas. Did men really do this? Was he her first lover? Did this count? She never wanted him to stop and lay back, momentarily dazed.

Just as she began squirming again with pleasure, however, she noticed something. The early dawn light had begun to creep through the curtains. Summoning every ounce of what little strength she had left, she pushed his head away. "You MUST stop, now," she whispered urgently. It's getting light outside! You and I will both be caught if you don't go, NOW."

"Gods woman!" he cursed, "I could die a happy man between your thighs. And this is the second time you've left me with an aching groin."

"I could say the same thing to you, and, to be honest, I would _prefer_ to keep going. But if you spend one more minute in my bed, you're a dead man."

Groaning, he heaved himself out of the bed and began tidying his clothes. She followed, pulling on a silky robe to cover herself.

They crossed to the balcony and looked out. No one appeared to be about.

He turned to her, taking her face in both his hands and kissing her tenderly, but passionately. "Thank you, Emma," he whispered, "I shall never forget you."

Suddenly shy, she looked up at him through her lashes. "I don't suppose…would you, will you…ever come back?"

"Perhaps I may, perhaps not," he said honestly.

"I see," she said gravely. "I can understand that. It's unlikely, under the circumstances, that we shall ever meet again."

He looked into her lovely sea green eyes and for the first time, he was the one knocked off balance, his mind a jumble of confused thoughts. He started to say something, then stopped at once. An overwhelming impulse rose up in him to beg her to wait for him, that he would return to claim her, but he squelched it harshly. "Get a grip on yourself!" he sternly told himself, 'Was he insane? He'd already taken incomprehensible risks staying with her as long as he had! it was utterly impossible." He took her hands in his and held them mutely.

"Will you even tell me your name?"

Seeing him continue to hesitate, she said softly, "Good-bye then. May the gods bless you." Than she pulled away, and turned to go back inside the bedroom.

"Wait," he said. She turned back to face him. His blue eyes darkened with pain and sadness. "It's Killian," he whispered, feeling utterly gutted for reasons he could not even begin to understand. He pulled her hand up to his face, and gently laid it against his cheek in a tender, lover-like gesture. Emma felt tears beginning to well in her eyes and abruptly turned away.

Suddenly catching sight of someone approaching the castle from the other side, Killian nimbly leapt onto the balustrade, then slid down the tree next to the balcony, landing with a soft thud on the grass below. Then he disappeared into the forest.

Emma walked slowly back into her bedroom, and softly closed the doors.


	6. Prisoner in Disguise

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Chapter 6: Prisoner in Disguise

_Two Years Later._

Emma tried hard not to tremble as the Captain straightened up again. She had been recognized despite her subterfuge, and she was dazed with shock when she realized that Killian and the ferocious Captain Hook were one and the same. She had never expected to lay eyes on him again and the last thing she would have expected was for his real identity to be that of one of the most infamous and murderous pirates ever to terrorize the waters of her or any realm. Keeping a tight hold of her shoulder, the Captain said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. "That's better. You look like a strong enough lad. I'm willing to give you a trial as a cabin boy." Firmly dragging her across the deck, he opened a hatch door and pushed her toward it. "Go downstairs to my cabin and wait for me. I'll interview you later," he ordered.

Seeing her descend, he closed the door behind her and began issuing orders regarding the unloading and stowing of the _Island's _cargo into the hold of the _Jolly Roger. _He then conferred with Gates, the quartermaster, concerning the housing and rationing of the prisoners, followed by Randall, the bosun, and Adams, the master pilot, to prepare the rigging and set the course for their next destination, the free port city of Pontus on an island several leagues to the east, in order to fence the stolen goods. His crew was in an especially elated mood as they discovered how unexpectedly fabulous this haul had proven to be – gold bullion, silver plate, trunks of fine clothing and luxurious cloth, and vast quantities of jewels and trinkets of expert craftsmanship and top drawer quality. He bantered with them, encouraging them to think of the riches they would shortly be enjoying when they made port. He went about his duties as calmly and methodically as always.

On the inside, he was anything but calm.

Finding herself alone in his cabin, Emma too was in turmoil. She paced restlessly around his cabin, picking up and discarding objects and maps from the desk, looking at the spines of the books on his shelves. Finally, spying a wardrobe, she flung it open and discovered his clothing – his pirate clothing – hanging there. Linen shirts, lots of leather, several embroidered waistcoasts in crimson and black. Walking over to his bed, she ran her hands over his sheets, almost caressing them. Then she buried her face in one of the pillows and inhaled deeply. It smelled of him, of Killian, she would never forget his scent no matter how long she lived. It was all, unbelievably, true. Rising again, she went over to his desk and slumped into the chair.

Waiting for him to return, she thought back over the two years since their bizarre tryst, if that's what it was. When he had disappeared into the forest, she had walked very serenely back into her bedroom, thrown herself down on her bed still smelling of sex and _him, _and cried her eyes out. She desperately needed to release the pent-up tension and bursting into tears proved cathartic. Feeling calmer, she sat up, hiccupped, and wiped her eyes. She didn't have a lot of time before her maid would knock to come in and dress her. She stripped out of her ripped gown, noticing that it was stained with his blood. She stuffed it into the bottom of a box in her wardrobe where she kept old mementos of her childhood like her blanket, some stuffed toys, and similar sentimental keepsakes. The corset she left with her discarded gown and clothing from last night to be cleaned and pressed. She put on a new clean gown, washed herself a bit with the cloth, then tossed the water over the balcony. She moved a chair to cover up the drops of blood in the carpet, sprayed herself lightly with some scent, and got back in bed, pulling the covers up around her. When her maid knocked and entered the room a short time later, she yawned, stretched and rubbed her eyes sleepily in what she thought was a most convincing manner.

She continued with her usual, predictable routine in the castle. She rode her horse everyday for miles, she practiced fencing with her fencing master and her father, she practiced dancing and singing with her instructors. She attended many balls and parties, and she continued to receive the attentions of many suitors. Everything on the surface was the same, but nothing, nothing would ever be the same again for her.

Try as she might, she could not get the memory of _him_ to go away. She tried to suppress it, but no matter how diligently she tried to distract herself, forbidden thoughts and memories seized her. The feeling of his kisses, his hands on her body. His beautiful, mesmerizing blue eyes. The little scar on his cheek. The scratch of his beard and the sharpness of his teeth as he kissed and nipped at her. She would find herself staring at one of her suitor's hands as if in a dream, while her mind remembered how _his_ hands had felt sliding up her thighs, his sensitive, long fingers probing into her most intimate places. He became an incessant refrain inside her head, tormenting her with thwarted desire.

The nights were the worst. She would become aroused thinking about his lips on her and how he made her climax over and over. Her hands would wander down her body to touch herself until she found release, imagining he was making love to her and whispering his name softly. Sometimes she would go into her wardrobe, pull out the nightgown that still had his bloodstains on it, and rub her cheeks against the soft fabric, holding it up to her nose to see if it still retained some essence of his delicious masculine smell.

She became bold with some of her suitors, wrapping her arms around their necks and kissing them passionately, wantonly. She ran her hands over their bodies, even grinding her hips against theirs, hoping to feel the same heat. She would close her eyes, even pretend it was Killian, but nothing worked. She just couldn't feel the same electricity and sexual charge she had instantly felt when Killian first pulled her into his embrace for the dance, let alone the unbearable sexual excitement he created inside her when he hid in her bedclothes. She didn't just _want_ Killian, her body actually _craved_ him.

She could have born it if it were only about their undeniable sexual chemistry. But it was so much more; she knew it, she felt it. She had seen the sadness in his eyes as he left her, felt the tenderness of his farewell kiss. As she dressed his wounded hand and their eyes met, she knew that there was a deep and irrevocable connection between them, no matter how absurd it seemed. And she believed, truly believed he felt it too.

How did she know? Emma knew that, as the product of True Love, she had magic in her. She always could tell when people were lying to her, for example. She could often sense the thoughts or feelings of those around her. And her Aunt Regina, her mother's stepmother, had tried to teach her how to use magic – light magic – proactively, although so far Emma had proven to be a poor student. Regina scolded her, telling her she needed to _focus_ her emotions and energy or she would never be more than a "hand wizard" like "that old faker Merlin." "You mean Merlin the magician in Camelot was not a powerful White Wizard?" marveled Emma. "Oh no," said Regina, " he was nothing more than a hand wizard – a wizard who could do a few tricks with his hand like making a flame come into being, or healing a wound, or transforming a person's facial features to disguise them through illusion. But he was a clever bastard, I'll give him that."

Regina had learned her magic from the Dark One himself and had been a fearsome sorceress in her early youth. She and Emma's mother, Snow White, had once had a bitterly contentious and adversarial relationship. All that changed, however, when they were forced to work together to defeat the ogres in the Ogre Wars that had threatened both their kingdoms. During that time, Regina had met her own True Love, Robin of Locksley, and she had been utterly transformed. Now, she and Robin lived in the kingdom Regina inherited from her father, King Henry, enjoyed gardening, and cooking together, and doted on their two beloved sons, Roland and Henry. Their lasagna dinners and apple pie desserts were legendary.

Regina had always told Emma that if she were to really do magic successfully, she also had to trust her instincts and not overanalyze things. With respect to Killian, Emma was absolutely sure he had felt something real and compelling, and that one day he would come back for her. But as the weeks stretched into months, then on into a year and beyond, she began to doubt herself. She had been a mere dalliance, probably, a silly, inexperienced girl that he had toyed with and discarded, like many others before her, she imagined.

After a time, two important things happened. First, Emma decided that foolish or not, no man was ever going to awaken the kind of violently intense and passionate feelings she had experienced all too briefly with the mysterious Killian. She would never experience the True Love of her parents, and therefore she might just as well make her life mean something by making a politically and militarily advantageous marriage.

Second, a threatening new power had arisen in the realms to the east of the Enchanted Forest, a dark King called Titus. His brutally efficient armies began a march of conquest westward, across the richer lands to the west. Now, in alliance with the ogres and trolls from the north, he threatened to lay waste to the kingdoms not only of Prince Charming and Queen Snow White, but Queen Regina and Prince Robin as well. As Titus' armies swept towards them, they left a bitter trail of the torture and murder of innocents. Even if a town surrendered, he would put every man, woman and child to the sword and burn everything. Starvation was a constant threat, as Titus' troops burned or looted all the crops. The situation was dire, and even Regina's magic proved powerless to protect them because Titus had at his side an Evil Sorceress known only as the Red Witch.

Just as the situation appeared entirely hopeless, an emissary appeared from Titus, proposing that his only son, James, should marry Emma, and that their child should inherit all the kingdoms and united them into one, vast Empire. Prince James himself followed, and Emma allowed him to court her. After spending many days and hours in deep conversation with James, Emma came to her parents and announced her decision to marry him and agree to Titus' terms.

Her father and mother tried to talk her out of it. They sensed she was not in love with James, and they feared for her safety if she was under the physical control of a ruthless man like Titus. But Emma was resolute and deaf to their pleas. Her parents were indefatigable in their belief that good would always find a way to triumph, but she wasn't. And she certainly wasn't prepared to let one more innocent person die when she had it within her power to save them by marrying James, who seemed, unlike his father, a good sort of man. And as she saw it, it made no difference, she could never marry a man she truly loved, body and soul, and her child was going to inherit her parents' kingdom anyway. She would gladly give her own life to save her people. Finally, they relented, the treaties and agreements were signed, and plans were made for her to journey to her new husband and kingdom.

The only obstacle was her safe transport to Vargos, the Kingdom of Titus. The fastest way was by sea, but the breakdown of law and order had had a ripple effect. A new threat had appeared off the coast in the form of a legendary pirate called Captain Hook, who many thought had died hundreds of years ago, but was now, apparently, only too alive. He attacked virtually every ship that set forth from the Enchanted Forest's single port, particularly ships from the royal navy. Shipping had come to a virtual standstill. It was decided therefore that Emma would sail _incognito _on a small, humble looking merchant vessel heading east toward Vargos. Luxury goods typically travelled from east to west, and it was believed that Hook might not bother with a ship that appeared to be returning home with an empty back-haul, and the ship flew the flag of Vargos as a precaution. In the event of capture, Emma was to disguise herself as a cabin boy, the captain was to surrender promptly, and it was hoped the whole crew would be discharged at the next port with no one the wiser. Certainly Emma's dowry would provide any pirate crew with a more than ample reward; with surrender there was no reason to think holding the crew captive would have any return whatsoever.

It was a good plan. Unfortunately, no one could possibly have predicted that Captain Hook would have been – could have been - a man who had been intimately acquainted with Princess Emma.

The light began fading as Emma waited for the Captain. When she had caught sight of his flashing blue eyes, she not only felt the shock of recognition, she had felt the electricity of his presence. His hand on her arm, his breath and voice tickling her ear with his flirtatious question, had jolted her. Every intimate moment they had shared seemed to course through her body until her mind could not think for the roaring in her ears and the tightening in her belly. She pulled up her sleeve and regarded the light imprint of his fingers where he had bruised her with his tight grip. And what in the name of heaven had happened to his left hand since she last saw him? But she needed to keep her composure. She had to consider that she had been a plaything to him, nothing more, and now she was his prisoner, he was a pirate, and she was at his mercy.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her breast as she heard him coming down the stairs. Walking into the cabin, he filled it with his physical presence. She rose slowly, regarding him with a guarded expression. He came closer and closer, looming over her, dominating her with his tall body and intense blue stair. His face was an unreadable mask. Was he going to strike her? Ravish her? If the latter, she thought wryly, she probably would not object, so inexorable was the gravitational pull he exerted on her.

A questioning look flickered across his handsome face as if looking for something, only to be replaced by his customary mocking smirk. "So," he finally said, "I gather congratulations are in order? You're to be wed? And I understand your husband to be is quite the catch! What a clever lass you turned out to be – clever _and _ambitious."

She decided to return his mockery in kind. "What's it to you, anyway? You sound almost jealous."

His face suddenly turned serious. "maybe I am," he said softly, moving in closer and seizing her wrist with his hand.

"I doubt that."

"How could you possibly doubt me, darling, after, the night of forbidden, yet sublime passion we shared together?" he smirked.

That was it. She had _had it_ with his act. "I am aware I am in no position to play games with you, _Captain,_" she said tensely. "So I have nothing to lose by being completely honest. I felt that we had a connection, that night, and, for a long time, I foolishly believed that you felt it too. I thought I could _see_ you – to see the good man behind the mannered mask you wear. I even dreamed you would come back for me one day! Now I know that I was just one of probably hundreds of women you've played with, bedded, then forgotten. You've got your act down well. Good for you! You bested me, congratulations!

"But that's all in the past," she continued. "Now, through ill chance, I'm your prisoner. I need to know what you're planning to do with me. Because your best, indeed only option, is to ransom me and give me back to my husband-to-be as soon as possible."

She could tell that, for once at least, he was completely flummoxed.

He stepped away from her and gave her a long, thoughtful look. He began to pace up and down in an agitated manner. "So this is your opinion of me, then," he said, sounding stung, "that I played a game with you, used you sexually, manipulated you into saving my life, and then abandoned and promptly forgot about you?"

She dropped her lashes and said nothing.

He continued pacing. He started several times to speak, and then withdrew into silence. Finally, he strode purposefully over to the chest of drawers and opened one. He drew out a small casket, as for keeping precious jewels and object. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it. Silently, he drew out an object and held it towards her.

Curious, she forgot her fear and walked over to examine it in his hand. It was a miniature of herself, made several years ago, the same one her parents had sent to every potential suitor interested in courting her. She looked up searchingly into his face. He gazed at her for another long moment, then drew something else from the casket. He held it up to his face, and caressed his cheek with it gently.

It was the bloody handkerchief she had used to dress his wound, the one with a small swan embroidered in the corner.


	7. Your Shining Autumn, Oceans Crashing

Chapter 7: Your Shining Autumn, Oceans Crashing

She stared at him in wonder, tears forming in her eyes. In less than a second, he had wrapped his arms around her, his hook pressing his hips forcefully into hers. He tangled his good hand in her long golden curls, pulling her to him and forcing her mouth open with his hot, desperate kisses. She reached up to run her fingers through his black hair and pull him in closely as he probed her with his lips and tongue. She kissed him like it was the last time – which it might be – biting his lower lip and running her tongue on his teeth. He tasted of the sea, and rum, and the same familiar and much longed-for taste of Killian. He smelled thrillingly of leather and salt, sweat, and blood.

At last, he broke away, cupping her chin in his hand and gazing into her eyes. "You dreamed that I would come back to you, yet you doubted me," he whispered tenderly, "Can't you see that I have?"

"What do you mean?" she replied, hypnotized by his eyes, his smell, and her own bursting heart.

"Did you think that my appearance in the waters off your coast, and my seizure of your ship were merely _accidental_?"

"They weren't?"

"Obviously not."

Confused she sat down on the bed, breathing hard and trying to take in the full import of his words.

"Um, ah," she stammered, "I guess I was envisioning that you would be riding up to my castle on a white horse and asking my father's permission to pay court to me?" She sounded foolish even to her own ears.

"Oh I see," he said in an amused way, " and what do you think your father would have done with the likes of me? Most probably clapped me in irons in an _oubliette _down in the bowels of your castle without your ever knowing I had returned."

"I take your point."

"There was nothing for it. I had to resume my identity and occupation as Captain Hook, fearsome pirate and scourge of seven worlds and all the seas, despite how much I enjoyed my time as a dashing international jewel thief and seducer of Princesses," he added mischievously.

She rapped him on the knuckles and smiled at him seductively. "Gods," he groaned, "what an irresistible temptress you are." He moved his hand up under her shirt and began to tease her nipples. Her arousal shot through her like an arrow as he began to kiss slowly down her neck.

Emma, however, struggled to keep herself together enough to find out the rest of the story. She had to know. Nothing had been as she thought.

"How is it," she demanded, "that this is not an accident?"

"Oh, simple," he laughed. "When the wars broke out, I saw an opportunity and began to ply my…..trade….in the waters off your coast. After a time, I learned that the wars were to be settled by your agreement to marry the Prince of Vargos, and that you were to travel to his land. The sea being by far the quickest and the land between the kingdoms near totally despoiled, I knew you would come by that way. I thought at first you would be escorted in a royal naval vessel so I specifically targeted them. After going through virtually your entire fleet, I began to suspect some kind of subterfuge. When I saw your merchant vessel, I knew at once."

"How did you know?" she demanded.

"The vessel travelled far too low in the water for an east heading commercial ship. That's the back haul, as is well known. Something precious and heavy – like a dowry - must be on board. I knew I was right the moment I laid eyes on you on the deck."

She protested, "but…my clothes, my dirty face, how could you possibly have known instantly?"

"Because, love," he breathed pressing his forehead against hers, "I remember every, single line and curve of your body. You couldn't think you could hide yourself from me" he said running his hand from her breasts to her waist to her belly and down toward her sex. "Besides," he added, no sailor smells like strawberries."

"But, _why _did you come back?"

He groaned. "Don't you think I ask myself the same question? After I left you that night, I thought to forget you, or remember you simply as a fond memory, one of many high-born ladies that have proven unable to resist my considerable charms over the years. But there was something about you – inside you, Emma, that drew me in. I was in the middle of it before I even realized it had begun. I found myself unable to stop thinking of you, unable to stop pulling out the portrait and gazing at your likeness. I've handled it so constantly the enamel's beginning to wear away. Then I would take out the handkerchief you used to dress my wound and try to find your scent in it… ."

He lowered his head. "I felt as foolish as a schoolboy and I tried to get you out of mind with every distraction I could find. I couldn't stop thinking about the way you felt in my arms, the way you tasted, the sound of your sighs – I would become unendurably aroused. I probably fucked my way through half the brothels and harbourside taverns in three kingdoms just to forget you and get some relief."

She winced at this. "Why would a man like you have to pay for sex?" she asked scornfully.

"You don't understand. I don't _need _to pay for sex! I'm paying for them to leave afterward. That'swhat the money's _really _for. Anyway, none of it worked. And finally, after one such occasion, a rather buxom and kindly whore called Nan asked me afterward, ''hoo's Emma?" Apparently, without even knowing it, I had called your name at the moment of my….release." She asked me if 'she was someone dear to you that you lost?' And I realized that the answer was, actually, 'yes'. As stupid as my insane obsession seemed, I needed to pursue our…connection as you call it….to at least get some peace of mind."

Despite a rush of jealous feelings, she couldn't help but be grateful to Nan, the kindly whore.

"Gods," she exclaimed, suddenly self-conscious, "I'm filthy! Is my face still dirty?"

"Well, you look beautiful as always," he said diplomatically, " but you could use a bit of a wash?" He indicated the basin of water in the small compartment that doubled as a privy and water closet adjoining his. He opened his wardrobe, rummaged a bit, then emerged, handing her a clean white linen shirt. "Here, put this on for the time being. We'll sort out clothes for you tomorrow."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, disappearing into the compartment, stripping off the dirty tattered disguise, and washing herself all over with the provided soap, water and sponge. She donned the white shirt, which hung almost to her knees and almost fell off her shoulders, and returned to his cabin.

"Oh, that's much, much better," his eyes widened. He was staring at her erect nipples outlined clearly against the thin gauzy linen of his white shirt. He had been aroused by her the moment he returned to the cabin but now his cock was straining painfully against his leather pants.

"See something you like?"

He struggled with his self-control. She was openly flirting with him. But he had vowed that this time, if he had another chance with her, he would behave honourably. Something about her reminded him of who he once was, and who he might have been now, had circumstances not been as they were.

"I hadn't thought this part through, honestly," he confessed. He poured two glasses of water and handed one to her. She accepted it gratefully. He unscrewed his flask and poured a shot of rum into his own. Then he thought better of it and simply took a few slugs of rum. "_He's nervous!" _she thought to herself. For all his bravado and swagger, his confession of his feelings for her was obviously an unfamiliar experience for him, and he looked a bit shaken.

"Wait a minute," she said suddenly, "what happened to your hand? Did the Dark One take it? Did you try to keep the emerald you stole for him or something?"

"Oh gods, no, I delivered it as promised and decided he would owe me a large favor in return should I ever have need."

"Then what?"

Grinning, he took off his waistcoast, then reached round and pulled his shirt over his head. Emma gave an involuntary gasp. She had never actually seen him even partially unclothed. His torso, tanned and sculpted from his years of sailing and fighting, was as magnificent as she had dreamed. The dense black hair on his chest tapered enticingly down his belly into the belt of his pants towards his obviously straining manhood. She stared transfixed, then her eyes took in the brace he wore on his shoulder to hold the hook that, apparently, had replaced his left hand.

She stared, her lips parting and her tongue moistening them nervously.

Then he did something even more astounding. He unbuckled the brace, and smoothly slid the hook in its black leather cuff off his wrist. He wiggled his freed left hand at her mischievously.

She almost applauded. "But how? And why?" she wondered, dumbfounded.

"It's an actor's trick, but it must be our secret. For a time, I travelled the world where I was born in a theatrical company. I needed to...disguise myself, to hide my true identity to avoid detection. A travelling group of players was the perfect cover, and I learned many useful tricks of the theater that I have employed most successfully, particularly in my career as the Dreaded and Legendary Captain Hook!"

"So you were not born into this world?" she asked. "And there is no Captain Hook?"

"Aye. I was born in an entirely different world, and a very violent and troubled one I assure you. But Captain Hook is entirely real. During my travels on the run, I came upon the old villain. But by the time I met him, he was already sufficiently rich and after a time he decided to retire from his life of crime. I believe he had a fondness for growing cabbages. It's rather a long story, but eventually, I took over his ship, which is made of enchanted wood and the fastest ship in all the realms, along with a few other items of value, and the rest you know, more or less."

"Did he actually have a hook?" she asked.

"Yes, and he used it to great effect. And it's bloody useful. Even better than a dagger in some ways. It frightens people and makes them think better of fighting in the first place. I decided to use my theatrical tricks to continue the legend."

Yes, she thought to herself. It all made sense. His flamboyant theatricality, the clothes, the jewelry, the hook – it was all part of his intricate disguise and his livelihood. He reminded her of an onion. She felt she had just peeled back a layer.

"My acting skills have also proven useful in several other, er, sidelines, of mine."

"Such as?"

"Well, highwayman for one. Rich pickings on the King's Road! I'm known as 'Lord Richard' for my gentlemanly manners when I relieve the lords and ladies of their valuables. Other times I disguise myself as a young nobleman from a distant kingdom passing through on his "Grand Tour" before undertaking his family responsibilities. I believe you're acquainted with that one.

"Is that when you seduce the high-born ladies you mentioned? Do you use the same identical techniques and words you used on me?"

"No need. I don't need anything other than my pretty face and well-schooled manners. _They_ come after _me,_ I assure you, and more frequently than not I have to fight them off. I'm choosy – only the pretty ones with the nicest jewelry – which I relieve them of after I've satisfied them where their fat, old, rich husbands can't. It's a fair enough trade." He gazed off into the distance, a rueful little smirk on his face.

Then he turned and focused the full, dazzling blue intensity of his eyes into hers. Taking her hand and kissing it, he said in a low thrilling tone, "But you are the only high born lady I ever deliberately seduced…that I _wanted…._that I took insane risks and went after even though it jeopardized my entire plan that evening." He rubbed his thumb sensually along his lower lip and leaned closer to her.

She felt herself melting at his words and the way he looked at her, but she needed to know more. "So what is your real name? It's obviously not 'Killian Hook'

"Well, the name I go by in this world is Killian Jones."

"And I infer Killian Jones is not the one you were born with?"

"Killian is my true name," he hesitated, "but Jones was not my family name – not the family I was born into. "And I won't tell you the real one. iIt would have absolutely no meaning whatsoever here in this world, thank the gods, so don't ask, because I don't like to be reminded."

She pressed him. "But your land – where you come from – tell me about it? And how did you cross worlds?"

He turned away and set his jaw. "I don't talk about that." His voice was ice cold.

Something about his sudden pallor, the set of his jaw, his hunched shoulders touched her. _He's wounded, she thought. Something….terrible…has damaged this man._ She remembered the sadness she had seen in his eyes on their first meeting.

Tentatively, she reached over and touched his face gently. He took a deep breath and turned back to face her. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly, his eyes still cold, his face closed off from her.

"Ssshhhh," she said tenderly, giving him light kisses along his jawline and neck, pressing her light fingers against his muscled chest and tracing the scars there.

Wrapping his hands in her hair, he pulled her to him and kissed her with lips full of longing and need. He began to kiss her neck, biting and sucking at her soft skin. He reached under her shirt and began to fondle her nipples into hard points. Her hand wandered down his chest to the straining bulge in his pants. He groaned and gripped her hard by her shoulders.

"Emma," he said sternly, "if you keep going, I am not going to be able to control myself." This time when he looked at her, his eyes were hot.

"I don't want you to," she murmured.

"Have you…been with a man since we were together?"

"How can you ask me that?"

"Are you still a virgin?"

"Of course! What did you think?"

"Don't you think your, er, future husband will expect that?"

"I don't know. And I don't care."

"Emma, are you actually _asking_ me to deflower you?" he smiled, for the first time since the troubled conversation about his past.

In response, she pulled off the shirt, crawled up the bed on her hands and knees, then turned around to look at him provocatively. He drank in the lush curves of her back, the swell of her hips, her rounded buttocks and equally firm thighs. He reached between her legs and probed her hot, quivering flesh aggressively with his fingers. "Gods, you're wet, dripping wet for me," he groaned. "It's actually running down your legs," he continued as his roamed over her, exploring her intimately.

"I tried to be noble," he said at last, unbuckling his belt. She smiled and turned onto her side to watch, head propped up on one elbow. He peeled off his leathers, finally freeing his frustrated, erect cock and stood naked before her. Her eyes widened in surprise. Although she had no real basis for comparison, his cock looked massive. An involuntary image flashed through her mind's eye of her father's most prized stallion. She had peeked through the fence one day to watch the stable hands struggling to control the stallion as they attempted to mate him with one of the swiftest mares. They held the mare there, trembling, as the stallion approached her from behind. The horse's erection was easily the size of a large club. When the animal raised himself on his hind legs and plunged into the mare, the mare screamed and went down on her knees. She suddenly felt afraid.

"I'll try not to hurt you, love," he said, sliding between her thighs. She began to relax as he slowly kissed and licked her inner thighs. Pushing her thighs apart, he began to slowly lap at her clit, swirling his tongue. He inserted first one finger, then two, stretching her gently. Her excitement was building and she began tensing towards a climax. He withdrew his fingers teasingly and slowed his motions. She groaned in frustration and need. He was driving her wild with lust. She wanted him, all of him, and right now. She wanted him to do dirty, filthy things to her, for hours. Impatiently she pulled him up and towards her. He knelt before her, drinking in her beauty and wanton desire. Picking up her right leg, he kissed her lightly on the arch of her foot before pulling up her leg and draping it over his shoulder. She felt him rubbing the head of his huge cock against her wetness before he began penetrating her with agonizing slowness. She felt a sudden resistance and a sharp pain that caused her to cry out and he insistently pushed forward piercing her like a knife. She gasped as his length and thickness slowly stretched and filled her. She struggled to accommodate him. She gave a little shriek when he forcefully thrust in the last few inches, feeling she might be entirely torn open. He stilled to give her time to adjust, then began to thrust slowly. At first the pressure and his enormous size threatened to overwhelm her, but as she relaxed under him, her excitement began to build and she reflexively tightened around him, raising her hips to move with him "Oh gods, Emma, you feel so goddamn _tight _I could die with my cock buried in your sweet, wet cunt….". She dug her fingers into his waist and moaned with pleasure and exquisite pain, rutting against him like an animal in heat. Holding himself with his left hand, he reached down and rubbed her clit with his thumb. Clutching the sheets with both hands, her knuckles white, she began to convulse around him as shockwaves jolted her body, each one subsiding only long enough for another to break. She pulled him towards her and whispered in his ear, "_Killian, fuck….me…hard…_" At that, he lost all control and began pounding into her mercilessly, his breathing labored and ragged. Her core muscles, toned and exceptionally strong after years of horseback riding, clamped down on his twitching cock like a vise, milking him relentlessly, and he exploded into her with a release so intense and prolonged he blacked out for a moment. He collapsed on top of her, kissing her tenderly.

He rolled off her and they both lay on their backs, breathing hard and staring vacantly in a kind of stupor, both wrecked.

"Well, I guess it had t'happen," he said, uncharacteristically understated for once.

She burst out laughing. "Yes, I suppose it did." She nestled against him and he wrapped his long arms around her.

"You know, I dreamed about this?" she confessed.

"So did I love, so did I." He had relieved himself more times than he cared to admit fantasizing about this and a dozen other even filthier scenarios in the two years since they had met.

Remembering those fantasies, he felt himself growing hard again, and reached between her legs. "I apologize love, but I just have to have you again."

They made love twice more before falling into an exhausted sleep. Just before she drifted off, sated and content, Emma whispered a question to him. "Killian, whatever are we going to do now?"

"I don't have a clue, love."


	8. Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

Chapter 8: Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

When she woke the next morning, he was already moving around the cabin, and food had been laid out on the table. Seeing her stir, he sat on the bed and gently nudged the hair out of her eyes and stroked her cheek. "Good morning, love," he said. "You should get up and have something to eat. You're probably starving. I'll give you a moment to collect yourself, then I'll breakfast with you when I return."

He disappeared up the stairs to the deck. Emma rose, stretched, and experimentally swung her legs around to the floor, wincing as she did so. She was sore and tender between her legs and felt sticky from her belly to her knees with the remains of their vigorous lovemaking last night. The sheets were stained with a mixture of body fluids, including her own blood. Gingerly, she carefully walked to the water closet, washed herself in the fresh water she found there, and put the shirt back on. Spying the rum flask by the bed, she gargled with it and cleaned her teeth with the rag. Rummaging through his closet, she found a pair of breeches and a belt and put them on as best she could. They sagged around her. She ran her fingers through the knots in her hair as best she could, then sat down at the table. She probably looked an absolute fright, and wished with all her might she could suddenly wave her hand and appear instantly perfect, ethereally beautiful and clean, her hair coiffed in a floaty peignoir. How could he want her now?

She suppressed these anxieties and focused on the bread and cheese and poured herself a cup of tea to steady her nerves. She had bigger problems to worry about now anyway.

When he came down the stairs, he paused to take in the scene. Suddenly shy, she looked down and blushed prettily. He sat beside her, tilted her chin towards him with his right hand, and gazed into her eyes. "Why so shy, darling? I feel a bit like a bridegroom greeting his virgin bride on the morning after and unsure of the protocol." He grinned at her.

She frowned at this. "Don't mock me. I know I'm a mess and desperately in need of a bath and some clothes that actually fit me."

"Not at all," he chided, "you look ravishing, and actually I'd like to ravish you again…." He began to move toward her but she stopped him with a warning look and firm pushback.

"Don't you ever stop? We need to talk."

At that, he flopped back into his chair and assumed a mournful expression. "I find when a woman says that I'm rarely in for pleasant conversation."

She rolled her eyes. "Then you'd be right," she agreed. "We need a plan. Are you planning to ransom me, rescue me, or run away with me?"

"Um, all of the above? And why don't you throw in 'ravish you' as one of the options as well." He reached into her shirt.

"Be serious," she batted his wandering hand away.

"I am serious!" he sulkily withdrew his hand, and played with his hook, which he was wearing again. Back in costume.

"And by the way, Emma, darling, I wasn't exactly as… careful…as I should have been last night. I don't want to risk getting you pregnant. We do need to address _that_."

Momentarily taken aback, Emma thought quickly, made a decision, then said firmly, "you don't need to worry. As a parting gift, Regina gave me a potion to prevent….unwanted pregnancies. It's with my things. And don't try to change the subject! We have more immediately pressing issues at the moment."

"Actually, I _have_ been pondering those questions myself since daybreak," he confessed. "I obviously can't hope to conceal your presence from my crew, especially in light of your rather…vocal…enjoyment of our couplings last night. And despite what some of them look like, you'd never fool them pretending to be a boy for very long, and you can't stay confined down here for the next few weeks, as much as I'd enjoy that," he leered a little.

He continued. "For the near term, the prudent course is to tell them the truth – that you are a noblewoman in disguise, that you are under my protection and not to be interfered with, and that we will ransom you back to your betrothed when we arrive in Pontus."

"Will I be…safe?" she asked.

Immediately understanding her meaning, he reassured her. "As safe as you reasonably can be on a pirate ship. Many of the crew have been with me for years and I trust them. The others fear me if nothing else. Besides, the prospect of your ransom and the dowry we found in the hold are enough to secure all of them a good retirement – that would be incentive enough in any case."

"But, in Pontus, you'll send a message to my parents and King Titus? A ransom demand? Will you send me back?"

He exploded. "Bloody buggering fuck! No, of course I don't want to send you back! I want to keep you for myself! That was the whole point of this exercise in the first place, not the sodding money!" He banged his hook down into the table for emphasis. "All the same, I'd love to collect the ransom and then make off with you anyway. It would be a good con - about the ultimate game of "Follow the Lady" I can imagine," he laughed.

She didn't join in. "It's a lot more complicated than that, there are a lot of things at stake here, not just you and me. You can't always have your cake and eat it too."

He raised an eyebrow. " Why ever not? I usually do. Are you telling me you want to be forced into an arranged marriage with someone you don't love?"

"I wasn't forced. My parents were against it. Maybe you don't know their history but they married for love, and against all odds. They had to fight for their happiness, they would never have forced me, and they tried to talk me out of this. It was _my_ decision. It seemed best for everyone's sake."

He was silent. "Well, you rather led me believe you had been pining for me for two years and that I was performing a dashing rescue."

"You did," she said, melting at his words. "And I'd like nothing better than to run off with you, away from this place, from this whole nightmare. But I don't know if that's possible anymore."

He said nothing. Instead, he picked up a ripe pear from the basket, spearing it with his hook. Taking a sharp paring knife from the table, he slowly, sensually began to peel off a slice and offer it to her. He placed the sweet fruit between her soft pink lips, gazing into her eyes. As she bit into the pear, the juice ran from her parted lips to her chin. Never taking his eyes off hers, he continued methodically to feed her slice after slice, swiping the juice with his thumb occasionally, then placing it in his mouth to suck off the juices.

After a while, Emma's loins were so ablaze with desire for him she forgot what they were talking about. Taking advantage of her distraction, the Captain began to kiss her breathless, licking the remains of the sweet juice from her mouth. He decided to forego the bread and cheese and have her for breakfast instead.

Pushing her down onto the bed, he spread her legs apart, nodded approvingly, then continued his dismemberment of the pear. He inserted a large juicy slice right into the opening of her equally juicy sex, rubbed the rest of the pear all over her dripping folds, then proceeded to consume her like she was the most delicious thing in the world.

The ecstatic and slightly perverse pleasure of his lips and tongue as he licked and nibbled at both Emma and the pear were so exquisite as to be almost painful. She felt like she was literally dying as she climbed higher and higher towards her release. As she did, Killian took his last bite of pear, rose quickly to his knees and deftly flipped her over like a child's toy and held her down with his hook. Pulling her to her hands and knees, he entered her immediately, hard and deeply. Unlike last night, when he had taken pains to be gentle with her, he drove into her without preliminaries and all at once. The angle of his attack enabled him to penetrate her much more deeply than last night, and she screamed as she felt a sharp pain, exacerbated by her previous soreness. She gritted her teeth and tried to relax around him. As he began driving into her over and over, the feeling of his huge cock and powerful thrusts, combined with her extreme arousal from his earlier ministrations, quickly pushed her over the edge and shattered her entirely. She began to convulse around him, falling onto her arms as she did. They panted and gasped as Killian and Emma climaxed together.

Breathing heavily, they rolled over and he kissed her on the tip of her nose with an impish grin.

"You're incorrigible," she finally said.

"You wouldn't want me any other way," he replied smugly. "That's what I would call waking up with a bang."

She rolled her eyes.

"Well," he continued in a martyred fashion, "you've kept me here long enough. We need to be up and about and get you sorted."

After they dressed, he eyed her up and down appraisingly, then opened his cupboard again to pull out a cloak. "Put this on and wrap it around yourself as much as possible," he instructed. "You're tempting enough without your breasts falling out of my shirt."

Huffing indignantly, Emma did as she was bid. She followed him up the stairs to the deck, then they climbed up to the upper deck. At the sight of her, a hush fell over the crew and all eyes turned to look at her. The Captain motioned the men who were able to gather on the deck.

"As you can plainly see, the cabin boy from the ship we seized yesterday was no boy at all. She is called the Lady….Swan, and she is a lady of rank and connections. We will return her to her family unharmed in return for a very large sum of gold – enough for each and every one of you lads to enjoy a secure and quiet retirement. In the meantime, she is under my protection. She will be treated with all respect and courtesy as my honored guest."

Elated by news of their unexpected good fortune, the men smiled and talked excitedly among themselves. A few nodded at Emma in what she hoped was a kindly fashion.

Helping her down the stairs, the Captain chivalrously offered his arm to her and escorted her down to the hold. Once there, she went through her things, pulling as practical a collection of riding and hunting clothes, dresses, shawls, toiletries and books as she could manage. "Don't forget to bring some pretty things to wear just for me," he told her, smiling wolfishly.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked.

"Yes, definitely. Is it possible to have a rudimentary bath of some kind?"

"I'll see to it."

Returning to the cabin, Emma read for a while, ate some of the bread and cheese from breakfast, then fell asleep, still exhausted, until a knock late in the afternoon woke her up. A small round man entered with a largish copper tub. It wasn't anything close to the spacious, luxurious baths she was accustomed to, but it would do. "Good afternoon, Miss," he said, "I am William Smee, the first mate. I've brought the tub for you, and cook's boiling the water. The Captain says you are to ask me if there's anything you need. He will return later to dine with you in the evening."

She thanked him as he departed, noticing as she did so a sweet looking young boy coming into the cabin as Smee left, carefully carrying a large bucket of steaming water. He was a thin, blonde-haired lad of about thirteen or fourteen years old, with a sweet face. "Beggin' your pardon, miss, I'm Isaac, the ship's boy."

"Thank you, Isaac, I appreciate your help," she said gravely, smiling. He looked like he should still be doing his lessons, not working on a ship full of pirates. Patiently, he went to and fro, finally filling the copper tub with steaming water.

Once the tub was full, Isaac turned to her. "Will there be anything else, miss?"

"No, but thank you, Isaac. I hope we can talk again."

He beamed at her. "Thank you, miss."

After he departed, Emma stripped and folded herself down into the small, but satisfyingly warm tub. She scrubbed herself all over with a cake of fragrant lavender soap and examined the tender area between her legs. She was very sore, but otherwise appeared to be undamaged. She sat in the water a long time thinking about their vigorous lovemaking, especially this morning. After his initial playfulness, he had been very rough with her. She could sense how much he enjoyed dominating and controlling her, seizing her, flipping her over and holding her down with his hook, moving her this way and that, while he took his pleasure. While she certainly enjoyed it too, she sensed again in him an underlying darkness. At a certain point, his lust to consume her stripped away his studied playfulness and flirtatious, yet assured, self control. He seemed almost…feral.

And what was he hiding about his past? What memories of dark deeds was he suppressing behind his mannered façade? She had sensed on a few occasions that she was pressing up against a secret room inside him, a core part of him determinedly locked away, even in moments of extreme intimacy. She felt a mixture of both compassion for whatever tormented him and fear of what he could be capable of if pushed too hard. At the same time, she reflected, maybe if she _did_ push him harder, she could somehow break through the barriers he clearly had erected to protect…something.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Emma decided it was time for her to take the initiative and push back a little against him. As the sexually inexperienced one, it had seemed natural to let him take the lead. He constantly kept her off balance, manipulating her with his eyes, his powerful sexuality, and her own intense physical desire for him. Maybe she needed to change things, at least occasionally, so that _she _was the one in control, and he was the one off balance. Drying herself, she slipped into a filmy, lacy white negligee that exposed most of her cleavage and had been part of her bridal trousseau, presumably for the wedding night. She changed the soiled sheets for a fresh set she found in a cupboard. She sprayed on a favored scent that smelled of roses and smoky spices, brushed her freshly washed hair, and pulled on a loose silk robe. Settling back into the pillows, she lay in wait for his return.


	9. Over The Hills and Far Away

**THANK YOU FOR READING, FAVORITING AND FOLLOWING IT IS MY INSPIRATION! PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW AS MANY REVIEWS INFLUENCE THE DIRECTION AND EMPHASIS OF MY STORY GOING FORWARD!**

Chapter 9: Over The Hills and Far Away

Killian had a hard time concentrating that day. He could not stop thinking about his Princess. He'd had many fantasies and expectations about bedding her, but she exceeded every one of them. As he moved through his tasks, his mind constantly strayed to thoughts of her voice sighing his name, her sweet smell, how she clung to him as she felt apart around him. Then he would feel guilty thinking how rough he'd been with her that morning, knowing it was because of their conversation over breakfast. Her suggestion that she intended to go through with her marriage, that neither of them really had any choice in the matter any longer, had made him feel both powerless and frightened of losing her. And feeling powerless and scared was an emotion that he had spent all of his adult life trying to avoid. He'd been irrationally angered, taking it out unfairly on her. He'd been too much of a coward to address her entirely legitimate concerns head on, instead falling into his familiar trick of sexual distraction. All day his emotions swung wildly back and forth, veering between guilt and anger, fear and confusion, giddiness and depression, longing and desire. At the end of the day, he had resolved that he couldn't bear the thought of losing her and he would just have to find a way to keep her. It would be a challenge, but he'd always liked a challenge. As dusk fell, his impatience to be with her again pulled at him and he resisted no longer.

"Smee!" he called. "This is as good a place to anchor as any. Take over and see to it. And have dinner sent to my cabin."

"Yes, Captain," said Smee.

Killian walked with a quick, light step to his cabin. His heart was pounding and his mouth felt dry with anticipation. Fucking bloody seven hells! He was acting like a callow schoolboy. He needed a moment to compose his features and order his thoughts. What was wrong with him? He sternly told himself to get grip, because, after all, he was _Captain Bloody Hook _wasn't he? No woman ever had gotten the upper hand with him. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much he desired her.

Opening the cabin door, he made his usual dramatic stage right entrance, _sangfroid_ firmly back in place.

"Hello darling, miss me?"

He barely had time to get the glib words out before he caught sight of her lounging on his bed in some sort of satiny nightdress that barely concealed anything, a provocative little smile playing across her face. In an instant, his smirk fell away, his jaw dropped a little and he sagged a little against the cabin door. He thought his heart might actually have stopped beating for a few seconds and his mouth actually started to water.

"_Bloody hell, woman," _he said in a strangled voice, "are you trying to kill me?"

"Like what you see?" she said standing up to greet him.

For once, he was speechless. He closed the distance between them so quickly he was a blur, reaching for her. He swept her up into his arms and kissed her hard, his tongue probing roughly into her mouth while his erection pressed against her thigh. She returned his kiss coolly, then artfully shrugged him off and opened the cabin door.

"Whaddaya think you're doing," he slurred.

"I believe I hear dinner on its way. Perhaps you would like to clean up before we dine?"

A few moments later, Isaac was admitted with their dinner and began laying the table. Killian turned away, closed his eyes, and took a few deep, steadying breaths. Then he took off his coat, hung it on the peg and went to the basin.

"As you wish."

They sat down to a dinner that, he had to admit, was unexpectedly and uncustomarily delicious. The cook from her ship had obviously had a high level of training and knew how to prepare food – certainly unlike any other ship's cook with whom he was familiar. They sipped their wine and she asked him to tell her stories of the faraway places he'd visited and his daring exploits along the way. He asked her about her childhood, her parents, what life was like growing up in the castle. It had been a very long time since he had had a real conversation with someone of her education and refinement, and certainly not with a woman. He found it strangely, and thrillingly, intimate in a way their sexual encounters, passionate as they were, had not been. Relaxing from the wine, he found himself enjoying her intelligence and quit wit. For the first time he could remember in years, he felt like he was offstage, the evening's performance concluded, an ordinary man enjoying the company of a beautiful and charming woman, and finding himself totally smitten.

"Killian," she said, as they ate slices of fruit tart, "you are obviously a well-educated man with impeccable manners when you want to be. Were you raised as a gentleman?"

He regarded her for a very long moment, as if thinking very hard about his answer. She braced herself for one his lighthearted jibes and was surprised when he answered honestly.

"Actually, yes. I was raised as a gentleman. I was…." he stopped, as if finding it difficult to form the words.

Emma stayed very, very still, hoping her silence would encourage him to continue with this sudden openness.

"My father was a great Lord…." he blurted out suddenly. "I mean, in the world where I was born. Not here. It's not relevant." He looked down, fidgeting uncomfortably.

This was no bluff. She knew he was telling her the truth. She had always known when people were lying, it was part of the magic she was said to possess, the only magic she had any surety about her ability to control.

"So," she answered very softly, "are you really an enchanted prince in disguise in our world?"

"No. My father was a great Lord of our realm, but he wasn't the King, or a prince or anything. Doesn't matter now anyway."

She could see that he was fighting to hide his agitation. His face was pale under his tan and she could see the small muscles in his jaw and neck clenching with tension.

She said nothing, just reached out and took his hand in hers. When he at last raised his eyes and looked at her, he saw tears in her eyes. _She knows_, he thought.

"He…they…they…" he struggled with the words. "They-died," he said simply.

She thought it wiser not to press the matter further. He had confided more than she dared hope and clearly was deeply troubled about it. They sat together in silence for a while, until there was a knock at the door and Isaac entered to clear up the remains of their dinner.

Instantly, the mask was back. He joked with Isaac as the boy cleared the table, telling him that if he was a very good boy and worked hard, maybe one day he too would have a beautiful girl to dine with.

"Yes, Cap'n," the boy said, shyly smiling at Emma.

When he departed, Captain Hook was back, greedily pulling her to the bed, biting and sucking on her neck until he left bruises, and pulling down the thin satin straps of her gown to stroke and squeeze her sensitive nipples into hard points. His manipulative mood swings gave her whiplash, but she was determined to stay a step ahead of him.

"Wait," she whispered, "let me do it." She knelt down and unlaced his pants, freeing his straining cock. While he had wandered all over her body, she had yet to really explore his. She stared, fascinated, as drops of clear, viscous fluid pooled at the tip of his erection. Experimentally, she darted her tongue and tasted him, swirling her tongue over the head. It was both salty and strangely sweet, exotic, and the skin felt soft to her touch.

But it was his reaction that interested her most. He groaned, and his eyes blackened with lust. Wrapping one hand around the base, she began to take him into her mouth, drawing him in while swirling her tongue around his throbbing member. He wound his hand in her hair tightly and began thrusting to the back of her throat. Suppressing her gag reflex, she tried to relax her throat muscles and greedily sucked and licked at him, winding him up ever more tightly. She began experimenting with her power, momentarily stopping her actions and gauging his reactions. As she took him in, he groaned, "oh gods, love, you look so beautiful sucking my cock! Fucking your mouth is like heaven…I never want to stop…you're driving me insane….it's nearly unbearable…." When she would slow her actions and pull back, he would beg her, urge her on, "Emma please, don't stop, suck my cock like a good girl….that's a good girl….I need you to go deeper…" he plunged into her mouth, and she became increasingly wet and excited as she tasted his forbidden pleasures, and tasted also the sexual power she had over him. His breathing became increasingly ragged until he shot his release into her mouth like a canon, groaning as if in pain. She swallowed every drop, licking him clean. Then she deliberately looked up at him from under her lashes, slowly wiped her lips with her finger, then sucked the remains from her finger as if it were the most delicious sugary confection she'd ever tasted. Despite the fact that he looked utterly wrecked and exhausted, he was so turned on he began to harden immediately.

She stood up slowly, still fondling and cupping him as she rose, gazing into her eyes. Summoning his strength, he lazily began smirking at her. "Well," he said, "I never thought I would have a Royal Princess on her knees before me, sucking my cock."

She looked right into his eyes, her gaze steely, her voice smooth as silk. "And I never thought that I'd have pirate by the balls." At that, she gave him a hard squeeze that caused him to yelp in pain.

"I'm not finished with you yet," she said, pushing him back on the bed. She helped him out of his boots and pants. Then she pulled off his vest and shirt and undid his brace, freeing, mercifully, his left hand. Now, it was her turn to explore him. She traced every fine line and muscle of his sculpted body with her fingers and lips. She kissed and nipped at him from his neck to his belly and down into his strong thighs, the thighs that had thrust into her so forcefully only a short time ago. Every inch of him felt precious to her, and having him laid out before her, nearly catatonic with pleasure, made her feel powerful, indestructible even. When he was so ready he was thrusting into the air, she threw her leg over him and straddled him, his hardness pressing against her soaked folds. She grasped him, teasing the shaft against her wetness, but staying aloft, refusing to allow him to taste but a few inches, for a single, tantalizing moment. "Please, Emma," he begged, "I need to fuck you more than I've ever needed anything."

"You know," she said, continuing to torment him, "my riding instructor tried for years to teach me to ride sidesaddle, like a proper lady. But I could never get the knack for it. I needed to ride my stallion astride….how else could he respect me?" she asked innocently, at the same moment sinking down on him to the hilt.

His eyes opened wide, incredulous, "Emma, what are you doing to me….no other woman has ever done this to me before, made me feel this before….I want to die fucking your cunt…." His eyes were so black with lust he looked as if possessed by a demon, and she gave into her own, riding him hard, long, and fast until she began to fall apart, orgasm after orgasm cascading one after another until she lost control and began falling toward him. He had held back, enjoying her wrecking herself as she rode him like a stallion, but as she fell toward him he seized her white shoulders, flipped them over, then fucked her into the mattress as he came with a thrust so hard she felt impaled on his cock and came again.

Clinging to one another as if drowning, covered in sweat, they both fell into an exhausted, almost comatose sleep.

Toward morning, however, Emma found herself visited by a vivid dream that felt more like a terrifying vision. Killian stood with a rope around his neck. She knew he was going to die and she could do nothing about it. She strained to reach him, helplessly, unable to move. When she woke up screaming, she felt his strong, comforting arms around her, the hairs on his chest prickling her cheek, his hands stroking her gently, his beautiful voice soothing her, reassuring her.

"It's all right, my sweetheart, you just had a bad dream, that's all."

" .." she sobbed into his chest, "it was so much…so much worse…so much more than that! I'm so afraid for you…."

He continued to hold and stroke her as her shaking sobs subsided.

"Try to sleep, love, I'm right here with you," he said gently.

"Killian, can you…can you sing to me?" she begged, agitated. Her father had always sung to her to sleep when she awoke in distress.

"I'll try," he said. Then he began to sing quietly, an unfamiliar song to her, in a surprising lovely tenor voice.

_Here's forty shillings on the drum_

_To those who volunteer to come,_

_To 'list and fight the foe today_

_Over the Hills and far away._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main_

_Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain._

_King George commands and we obey_

_Over the hills and far away.*_

"Who's King George?" she asked sleepily, soothed by his voice, "and where's Flanders, Portugal and Spain?"

"They are kings and countries in another world," he answered, "a world without magic."

"Have you been there?" she asked, wonderingly.

"Aye, but that song was taught to me when I was but a lad."

"Who?"

"A man named Richard Sharpe. He…raised me, took care of me, after I lost my family."

"Sing it again," she breathed.

*Traditional English song dating back to at least the 17th century. These are the lyrics and arrangement created by John Tams for the _Sharpe _movies starring Sean Bean as Richard Sharpe.

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	10. Lost Boy

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Chapter 10: Lost Boy

When she woke the next morning, she was still tucked under Killian's arm, her head on his shoulder, his warm body rising and falling with deep, even breaths. He looked so young and innocent as he slept, his features relaxed and his brow without its characteristic furrow. His full lips, slightly parted, were without trace of the usual smirk or sardonic half-smile. One arm was flung over his head, and she could imagine for a moment how he might have looked as a young boy, his face fuller and less weathered, the scruff that covered the lower half of his face not yet grown. He must have had an almost feminine prettiness. How had that angelic looking little boy become the violent and menacing Captain Hook?

She traced her fingers lightly over the muscles and scars of his chest and down along his lightly furred belly, enjoying the feel of him while he lay unaware. The dawn light was just beginning to break and she could hear the mournful cries of the seabirds as they circled overhead. She could hear them call to each other, then silence, followed by a sudden splash as one of the larger birds plunged into the water to snatch up its luckless prey. Thinking of prey, her thoughts wandered to yesterday's disconcerting series of events, and the scenery-chewing performance that was the Captain.

Remembering her forwardness from the night before, she blushed, pondering the contrast between the roughness of their sex—his evident excitement at her aggressiveness—and the tender and loving way he had comforted her and sung her to sleep after her nightmare. It seemed to her he had consciously adopted two distinct and quite opposite identities –the romantic and gentlemanly Killian, and the darker, more predatory, Captain Hook. She considered that the loss of his family and the possibly horrible circumstances surrounding that loss might be responsible for the duality she saw in him. Perhaps he kept his dangerous emotions and bloody memories caged inside Hook, only free to be lighthearted and loving when he reverted to Killian again. If she were honest with herself, she admitted that she found the Hook side of his character more than a little thrilling, and a part of her enjoyed playing with fire when she played her little game with him.

She continued caressing his belly, which she found unaccountably sexy, the ridges of his muscles hard and unyielding even in a state of total rest, her hand delving lower to discover he was already fully aroused. She touched him experimentally, and he snapped his eyes open, immediately rolling her over on her back. He began a slow exploration of her body, nipping and kissing down her neck to her breasts, pulling first one and then the other into his mouth and sucking on them until she cried out with mingled pain and pleasure. Gently nudging her thighs apart with his knee, he reached between her legs and gently stroked and probed her folds with deft fingers. She was already slippery with arousal and the tension was building in her belly. Impatiently, she tried to pull him to her, opening her legs wider, but he resisted, proceeding to take his time with her, moving at a leisurely pace for what seemed like hours, teasing her and obviously restraining himself. Moving between her thighs, he began to kiss and bite them gently, sucking on the tender flesh in a way she knew he would leave a trail of marks, knew that was his intention. When he reached the apex of her thighs, she impatiently rolled her hips towards him and wound her hands in his dark hair to pull him into her. Grasping her thighs, he held her down, spread her legs further, and then began to tease her with his lips and tongue, sucking her sensitive center until she moaned beneath him. He slipped his fingers into her, his rings cold against her flesh, and she shuddered as he began to curl his fingers and stroke the spot deep inside her that wound her tighter and tighter until she fell apart around him with hoarse cries. He let her ride out the aftershocks, but then began stoking her again until she literally begged him to fuck her. She cried out in pleasure as she felt him enter her, thrusting and rotating his hips in slow, deliberate strokes. Sitting up and pulling her legs towards him, he adjusted the angle of his strike to precisely probe her most sensitive spots. Moving faster now, he drove each thrust deep into her belly until he felt her walls begin to clench around him. Feeling the hard contractions of her orgasm around his agonizingly hard cock, he could hold back no more and spilled his release into her with a deep and satisfied groan. He continued to pulse inside her as she tightened around him and wrapped her trembling thighs tightly around his waist, wringing the last shudders of pleasure from both of them.

Gazing into her eyes when they had stilled at last, he kissed her tenderly and rubbed the tip of his nose playfully against hers. He had been the very _beau ideal_ of a gentle and considerate lover, totally the opposite of his roughness the previous day. She smiled up at him. "That was …. beautiful,' she breathed. Then, more shyly, "And thank you for last night."

He grinned wickedly. "Actually, I should be the one thanking you."

She blushed, disconcerted. "I didn't mean it like that! I meant –- for holding me, singing to me, when I was frightened."

His expression instantly lost its impishness. "Anytime, love." He smoothed her hair, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"Now I have a question for you," he said in a challenging tone. "For a virgin who claims to have had little sexual experience apart from our own little – encounter, shall we say – two years ago, you seem rather remarkably adventurous. One might describe you as quite…. precocious, my Princess, despite your very pretty blushes."

"You're not the only one who indulged in filthy fantasies the last two years," she confessed. The truth was, she'd grown up a lot from the naïve girl she had been when he first danced with, then seduced her. Her encounter with Killian, and the subsequent passion he had awakened in her, had caused her to develop a rather keen, not to say obsessive, interest in sex.

"Oh my," he leered at her lasciviously, "and did you perhaps touch yourself thinking about all the nasty things you wanted me to do to you, when I had my wicked way with you?" He began to flick his tongue lightly from the base of her throat to her earlobe. He nipped at it and then thrust his tongue into her ear suggestively, tickling her and exciting her at the same time.

"I may have done," she said breathlessly, giving him a sidelong glance. She could tell she was winding him up again. "Maybe I had a few fantasies about what I'd like to do to you."

"Quite the little strumpet, aren't you?" Idly, he moved his hand to her breast and began to play with her nipple.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I did have a little instruction on the general subject, and from an expert in the field," she replied, running her fingers through his hair.

"Oh?" He pulled back, cocking a brow; now he was really interested.

"Actually, I talked about it a lot with Regina. She knew—knows –a lot of things about how to pleasure a man, as well as what I might enjoy in return. She also had a couple of rather exotic foreign books with titles like "The Art of Love" that included detailed instructions and diagrams."

"Diagrams?" he laughed. "You're joking."

She wrinkled her nose. "Honestly, some of them looked intriguing but I'm pretty sure that some might require formal training, perhaps as a circus performer?" She grinned at him and they both started to laugh.

A thought suddenly struck him, causing him to pull away for a moment, throw himself on his back, and stare at the ceiling with a broad, amused smile. "Well, I'll be damned. I knew the Prince of Thieves seemed like an unusually happily married man and now I know the reason why."

Now she was surprised. "You know Robin?"

"Naturally. We've worked together a few times, and I've helped him out when he and his men needed a quick escape. There is such a thing as honour among thieves, you know."

He gave her a roguish grin and chucked her under her chin, returning to his earlier ministrations. "But I digress, tell me what, er, other interesting things you learned in the course of your discussions with the former Evil Queen?"

Emma smiled inwardly and didn't answer him, remembering how horrified she'd been when Regina had told her about practices like using her mouth on a man. It had sounded utterly revolting. And Regina, with her customary directness and sarcasm, hadn't exactly sugarcoated it.

_"Men have no idea what we're dealing with down there!" Regina told her. "Teeth placement, and jaw stress, and suction, and gag reflex. And all the while bobbing up and down, moaning, and trying to breathe through our noses. Easy? Honey, they don't call it a 'job' for nothing!" Then her voice softened and her eyes took on an almost dreamy look. "But don't get me wrong – with the right man it can be _fabulous_."_

Last night with Killian had proven to be that and more, fortunately.

"Umm, she talked about things like how to use your mouth to please a man. But she warned me that it might not be pleasant if the man happened to have something she called 'funky tasting spunk'."

He burst out laughing again. "You're joking," he said, gasping with laughter. Emma couldn't help from laughing too, and pretty soon they were falling all over each other with mirth.

He composed his features into a faux serious expression. "I'll try to watch my diet, darling." That caused both of them to fall about again, shaking with amusement.

He turned serious again, cupping her chin in his hand and gazing into her eyes. "Much as I'd like to have you again this morning, not to mention continuing our _informative_ conversation, I've got a ship to run and can't tarry here all morning, much as I'd like to." He gave her another kiss, then slipped quickly out of bed to dress, before he could change his mind.

####

The morning tryst had put both of them in a good mood for the rest of the day. Emma spent hers pleasantly, enjoying the fine weather and closely observing the activities of the crew. Always curious, she wanted to understand exactly what was required to sail a vessel like the _Jolly Roger_, and she tried to memorize every task and movement she observed. The men were polite enough and even seemed flattered by her questions and interest. Killian was both above and below deck throughout the day, steering the course, conferring with the quartermaster Gates about current supplies, and having a long discussion over maps with Adams the master pilot. Every so often he would catch sight of her, their eyes would meet, and they would give one another a small, secret smile. Other times, he would brush past her and lightly squeeze her arm or caress her back in passing. She would return his caress with a smile from under her lashes or a flutter of her fingers.

These glimpses, indeed, her very presence on his ship, filled him with a sense of joy that he didn't think he had experienced since he was a boy, before everything had gone so horrifically wrong. The thought that he could lose her, probably would lose her, once they got to Pontus, made him unbearably wistful and sad. He had to find a way to convince her not to go through with her plans to marry the Prince, and he had to find a way to square that with his crew. The very thought of another man touching her, holding her, possessing her as he had done, literally made him sick to his stomach. Hot jealousy began to bubble up inside him, but he struggled to suppress his violent emotions and focus instead on devising a plan to keep what was his. He'd been in impossible situations, before, he told himself, surely he would find a work around for this one.

By the evening, he had talked himself into believing that even so unremitting a cad and scoundrel as himself could still pull off a happily ever after, if he were devious enough. Noticing how happy and relaxed he seemed over their dinner of freshly caught fish and some good-ish hock wine later that evening, Emma asked Killian to tell her more about the man he called Richard Sharpe. She had expected him to resist her inquiries, but to her surprise, he spoke freely, seeming almost relieved to unburden himself.

"When I lost my family, I was quite young," he began. "No more than eleven. Richard looked after me. He had come quite accidentally from a world without magic, where he was an experienced, even famous soldier. He'd gotten into trouble – again—and was drinking off his troubles and pondering his next move. He met an eccentric fellow with a large and strange-looking hat by the name of Jefferson at a pub. The next thing he knew, he had tumbled through a portal into our world. He met my father and offered his services as a seasoned swordsman and warrior. Very quickly, he became one of my father's most trusted men. Though of different worlds, they were very similar, completely bound up with the ideal of honour. They were kindred spirits in that way, you might say, two versions of the same person."

"Was he the person who trained you to be a gentleman?" Emma asked. Emma took another sip of her wine and leaned forward, entranced.

` He grinned. "Yes and no. I'd already had a deal of training with my family, but Richard made sure I continued to hone my skills in warcraft, including swordsmanship, military training, and how to be a leader of men. He tried as best he could to teach me as my father had, but there were differences—Richard knew how to fight dirty when necessary, and my father didn't."

"Your father sounds like a good and honourable man."

"Oh yes, he was. And it got him and most of my family killed." A bitter, angry look came over his countenance at the memory of what had happened. Shakily, he picked up his glass, drained the contents, then poured another. Anxious for him, Emma caressed his face and took his hand, stroking it soothingly. "I'm so very, very sorry," she whispered.

They were silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

He looked so lost and miserable she decided to try to distract him by changing the subject slightly. "This man, Richard, was he a knight? How did he learn to fight 'dirty' as you say?"

Grateful for the distraction, his face lightened a bit. "He told me he learned to fight dirty the same as any other common soldier – Saturday night in the gutter. Believe me, it comes in handy," he smiled wryly, remembering the many times Richard's tricks had saved him during a swordfight or a tavern brawl.

Seeing her perplexed, he explained, "Richard was a professional soldier, the son of a whore, raised in an orphanage. He was smart, fierce and talented. He was promoted through the ranks but never accepted as "one of our own" by the officers, who were for the most part gentlemen who obtained their position through rank and money, not merit. He got into trouble frequently, often because of women—couldn't bear to see a woman dishonoured or disrespected, and was in trouble for dueling more times than he could remember. He also disobeyed or ignored orders if he deemed it essential to vanquish the enemy. That's how he came to my world, which was, as he discovered, a hundred times more brutal than the one he came from."

"Is he the one that brought you to my world?" she wondered, toying with her wineglass.

"Partly. After my family was killed, Richard and I were on the run, hiding from the men who betrayed and killed them. We were also interested in securing vengeance not only against the killers, but those who had been behind it. Part of our disguise, as I told you before, was joining a traveling band of actors. We later took ship with a pirate named Salladhor Saan to a place to the East called Lys. From there, we eventually met the real Captain Hook, who had a cache of magic beans that enabled him to open portals and cross worlds. We joined his crew to escape my land for good. At first, we returned to Richard's world, the same world in which Hook had been born. But eventually, Hook heard about a place called Neverland, an enchanted island where no one ever grows any older. We thought to join him, but it was a terrible mistake."

"Why? It sounds like a kind of paradise." She poured them both another generous glass of wine.

"Aye, it seemed so, but it was an accursed place, run by a manipulative, demonic being who goes by the moniker of Peter Pan, yet has the appearance of a fresh faced teenager. He ran the place as a dictatorship and his hobby was stealing children from other worlds. They call them the Lost Boys. We were trapped there for what turned out to be hundreds of years before we escaped to this world. That's when I took over from Hook and began my storied adventures as a notorious pirate and career criminal. The last I heard of Hook he had retired quietly to grow cabbages, and for all I know has been dead these many years."

Hook fidgeted, running his hands through his hair nervously and tossing back another glass of wine. Finishing her dinner, Emma folded her napkin and placed it carefully on the table. "What happened to Sharpe? Is he still alive?"

"Aye, but after I decided to continue with piracy and the captaincy of the Jolly Roger, we parted company. Richard said he might have been born in the gutter, but he had no intention of dying there. He'd had trouble enough engaging in piracy in the first place. The only way he could rationalize it was that he had taken an oath to protect me from harm, and he said that when he was a soldier he was constantly accused of 'swanning about like a bloody pirate' so he decided he might as well give it a go.

"He tried to talk me out of piracy and thievery but I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to be on my own, completely independent, and never beholden to anyone or anything again. And I never, ever wanted to experience the kind of hurt or loss I had in my youth. Richard told me that my father would have been ashamed of what I have become, and he's right." Killian slumped in his chair and cast down his eyes, a glum expression on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck a few times, as if uncomfortably sore. She wanted to ask him more about his family, and how they had died, but she could see it remained a raw and painful subject for him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, taking his hands in hers. "But isn't it possible that you could be both? A pirate and a good man?" She stroked his face gently, but he shook off her touch.

"I should never have told you all this. It's over and there's nothing I can do about it. Talking about it just reminds me of what it means to be weak and powerless in a world full of monsters and predators."

He sat back, arms folded across his chest, brooding. He stood up, pushing his chair away and began pacing up and down restlessly. Then he sat down on the bed pulled out his flask, and took a hefty slug.

Full of concern for his evident distress. Emma rose and walked over to the bed to put her arms around him. She felt him beginning to relax again as she rubbed his back, the tension ebbing from his shoulders. "I'm relieved to learn that at least you weren't all alone, and that someone remained who cared enough to raise you, she said softly. "Richard obviously was someone you idolized."

"Aye, I was lucky, he saved my sorry arse on many occasions. And most of what I know about fighting and keeping order among a rabble of violent and unruly men I owe to him. And much of it isn't what you'd expect."

"Like what?" she prompted, playing with his necklaces.

"Well, for one thing, I am probably the only pirate or naval captain in these realms who never flogs his men."

Noticing her raised eyebrows, he continued, "Richard was flogged once, for something he never did, and still bears the scars on his back. He told me flogging only teaches one lesson to a man: how to turn his back."

"And women?" she prodded, "You said he couldn't stand to see a woman disrespected? He sounds a like the very model of a chivalrous knight, very similar to my own father." She sighed a little, imagining a romantic hero.

"I probably let him down there too, as I did my father, who was a famously faithful husband." Killian admitted.

"In my defense," he continued, "Richard never had to do much—other than be himself—to have every woman from countess to courtesan falling all over him. It made other men, especially his social superiors, jealous."

"Actually, that sounds quite a lot like you." she said with a wry smile.

"Aye, its true," he sighed with deliberately exaggerated resignation, "Like me, Richard was cursed with a very pretty face and what some might call sexual charisma." He gave her a devilish smile.

"But, unlike me," he continued in a harder tone, "he was a courageous warrior in the king's cause, celebrated in stories as a hero, and an honourable, trustworthy man who regularly aided the weak and rescued damsels in distress."

"You rescued me," she said softly.

"Ah perhaps I tried," he said quietly, "but you weren't really a damsel in distress, and from what you've told me of your intentions to go through with your contracted marriage, you didn't want rescuing."

She said nothing and her silence spoke volumes. He sank further into gloom, reached for his rum flask, and downed another slug.

"I should also tell you that Richard despised my flirting and careless ways with women when I grew up. He said I was a cad and a bounder and if I'd been anyone else he would have called me out."

"I take it you parted on bad terms, then."

"Aye," he said sadly. "That we did."

They remained side by side on the bed, Emma's arms around him and her head on his shoulder, as he continued draining the rum, for a long time.

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	11. The Serpent in the Garden

Chapter 11: The Serpent in the Garden

The days remaining until they reached the Free Port of Pontus passed largely peacefully and happily. Emma and Killian couldn't get enough of one another's company, whether it was exchanging confidences, laughing over jokes during dinner conversation, or having wild, passionate, and occasionally rough sex two or three times a day. She often spent mornings leaning over the rail, feeling the wind in her face and watching as the sunlight played over the crystal blue ocean and occasional white caps as they skimmed over the sea. Sometimes he would approach her in these moments, wrap his arms around her, and point out a school of dolphins playing in the ship's wake, or a passing lonely island. At night, he often invited her to watch the sunset on the upper deck if it was clear, then he would show her the constellations and explain how sailors used them to navigate. Summer was ending and the nights began to get cooler, and Emma began taking a shawl with her. Seeing her shiver slightly, he would solicitously wrap her in her shawl and envelop her in his warm arms when the chill set in.

Falling back exhausted one evening after hours of lovemaking, Emma dreamily told him that he was giving her the "honeymoon cruise of her dreams".

Killian had been rubbing circles down her back and admiring the beautiful curve of her flanks, but he stilled his motion. "What do you mean? We're not even married," Killian said, startled but sounding amused.

"I know," she said, turning over to stroke his cheek tenderly with the palm of her hand. "But I'm going to spend my life with a man I hardly know, probably until I die. Even if he is a kind and lovely man, I find it difficult to believe I could experience the kind of…" She hesitated, unsure if she should say it, if she could trust what she had found with him and name it.

He reached over to brush some of the hair from her face and gave her the crooked smile that always melted her.

She continued, feeling encouraged to be honest. "The kind of... love… that I have with you. I wanted to know that, at least once in my life, I could experience that kind of passion. I believe I have the satisfaction of knowing, now, that I have." She gazed into his deep blue eyes and gave him a smile of pure adoration.

For the first time in many years, Killian was speechless. He could feel his stomach turning over in knots, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her so close he heard her gasp for breath, and just barely loosened his hold. For a long time he was unable to reply.

"Emma," he said huskily, "Are you saying that you actually 'love' me?" His words sounded tense and unsure. "I wondered if we were just fucking."

"Loving, fucking…what, is there more?" she asked, reached up, running her hands through his hair, then pulled him closer, inviting him to kiss her.

He closed his eyes. "Gods, you sound just like Richard."

"Besides, you know exactly what I mean." she said.

"Aye. But why would you ever say that, when it's clear you don't mean it? It's like you're trying hurt me." He pulled away from her with a pained expression.

"Have I ever been anything other than straightforward with you?" she responded honestly.

"If you truly loved me, if it were the kind of 'True Love' you spoke of when talking of your parents, then how could you ever leave me for an arranged marriage?" he demanded in an angry tone. "Did you not tell me that they fought every obstacle, including Regina and your own grandfather, to be together? Surely you know I would protect you no matter what?" He sat up abruptly on the side of the bed, his fists clenched together, his elbows resting on his knees. He furrowed his brow and bore a look of anger on his handsome face.

She put her hand on his arm, trying to make him understand. "If I were they, I would have done the same," she said sadly. "But circumstances are different. If I don't go through with it, hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent people may die. And what of you? How do you intend to keep me? Your crew expects a fat bundle of gold in return for my release. And even if they agree, what next? Are we to continue a life of piracy? What if you're killed? What if I am captured by someone else? Who will 'protect' me then?"

He shuddered at her words. The prospect of what could happen to her if he wasn't there to keep her safe devastated him. He felt reduced to one tiny throbbing, unbearable piercing shaft of pain in his heart. He felt as trapped and helpless at the pressures bearing down on them as she did. He was simultaneously filled with both joy at the knowledge that she loved him and angry with her for being unwilling to fight for that love. And her naïve belief that agreeing to an arranged political marriage would truly protect people or solve complex political problems both enraged and filled him with genuine dread for her safety no matter what course she chose.

He turned away from her, and for a long time sat silent, feeling nearly paralyzed with grief and frustration. What could he say or do that would change her mind, when she so obviously was set on sacrificing herself for a noble cause?

Finally, he turned back to her, raised himself up on one arm, staring into her eyes with his own, ocean blue, intense gaze. He raised her hand up in his to caress his cheek, and with a sound that was almost sob, said in a low voice, "Emma, I love you, I do. I've never felt anything like the way I feel for you, never wanted anyone the way I want you. I would do anything – and I mean anything – to keep you. But I will respect your wishes. And I want to enjoy every single moment of whatever time we have left together, so I may treasure it when you're gone."

With that, he turned her hand over and began to kiss her palm, then traced his lips up her wrist, and toward the delicate skin inside her elbow. As they made love, Emma felt at peace, comforted by the realization that Killian truly loved her, loved her enough to make the sacrifice of giving her up for the greater good.

But Killian, as he sucked at her neck and breasts hard enough to leave bruises, had other ideas. Covering her completely with his body, he kissed her desperately, frantically, plundering her with his tongue and biting at her lips until they began to swell. He wrapped his arms around her so tightly she gasped for air until he remembered himself and loosened his hold slightly. He wanted to brand himself on her, possess her so completely that no one could take her away from him and he had driven all thoughts of anything or anyone from her mind other than him. He caressed and squeezed her arms and breasts so tightly she cried out once or twice and he had to concentrate on calming himself. As he kissed and sucked at her quivering white thighs, her hands tangled in his hair, the smell of her arousal filled him and he saw that she was already dripping wet. Greedily, his lips hovered over her delicious, tight cunt and the engorged pink bud above it, just begging him to devour her. His mind raced until his tortured thoughts had become a deafening roar.

There was not enough gold in the world to tempt him to give up his Princess, his golden Treasure, his Sierra Madre. He had waited many lifetimes to find her, and now that he knew she loved him in return, they would have to kill him before he would ever in one million years let her go. He would rather take both their lives than to let her go. He darted out his tongue to taste her, like a serpent.


	12. The Beast in Me

Chapter 12: The Beast in Me

_The beast in me  
Is caged by frail and fragile bars  
Restless by day  
And by night rants and rages at the stars  
God help the beast in me_

The beast in me  
Has had to learn to live with pain  
And how to shelter from the rain  
And in the twinkling of an eye  
Might have to be restrained  
God help the beast in me*

The next morning, he slipped out of bed quietly, before dawn. He dressed quickly, trying not to wake her, but just as he was leaving, she stirred. Sitting down on the bed, he ran his hands lightly over her breasts and belly, hushing her and telling her to go back to sleep. He could still smell their sex on her and he leaned over to regard the dark marks he had left all over her neck and breasts. He lifted the sheet up and examined the bruises on her delicate thighs. He carefully replaced the sheet around her, satisfied. He wanted her, and anyone else, to know that she belonged to him.

Just before he left, he leaned into her ear and whispered "Are you ready to play another game, darling?"

Sleepily, she reached for him, pulling him toward her by the collar, "Are you sure you can handle it?' she asked, grinning into his mouth.

"Maybe you're the one who can't 'handle it'." he said in a suggestive tone, pinching her nipple roughly. Then he slithered away before she could respond.

She didn't see him for the rest of the day. She slept late that morning, tired from their passionate lovemaking and exhausted emotionally by their painfully honest conversation. Inspecting the marks all over her body and wincing slightly when she touched some of them, she had understood he had been angry last night, even though he tried to hide it. He was accustomed to being the master and controlling his own destiny. She could feel the terrible fear and frustration that drove the violent passion of his lovemaking last night and she ached for his pain.

After dressing, she spent most of the day on the deck, pretending to read a book but mostly thinking about how much it would hurt her to lose him, questioning the inevitability of her own decision. Could she really imagine saying good-bye to him forever? Never looking into his beautiful ocean blue eyes again? Never feel his hot kisses or his soft caresses? The thought of never feeling him inside her again or hear his voice cry out her name with passion made her heart ache and tied her stomach up in knots. She felt as empty and bereft as a person famished by hunger and thirst. The burden of responsibility seemed too unbearable suddenly and she wondered if she should simply yield to him and let him make the decisions for both of them, as he so evidently wished to do.

Later in the afternoon, Smee interrupted her tortured thoughts by telling her the Captain wanted to see her in his quarters, immediately. She suddenly realized she hadn't seen him all day, and wondered if he had been deliberately avoiding her.

She descended the stairs with a light step, entering the cabin with a smile on her face in anticipation of falling into his arms again.

But when she entered, he was bent over some maps and account books on the desk, and ignored her completely, scowling.

She walked over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Killian, I…" she began.

He stood and whirled on her, his face dark. Seizing her by the shoulders in a grip so hard and rough she knew he would leave finger-shaped bruises, he turned her around, bent her over the desk, and pushed her down firmly against the surface. Raising her hands to grip the end of the desk to steady herself, she felt his hook pressing hard into the small of her back.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, struggling against him.

He was silent, holding her there for a moment. Then, with his right hand, he raised her skirts up over her back as she lay bent over the desk. He kicked her legs apart, then, moving his hook, he ripped through her scanty undergarment in one motion. She lay entirely exposed and vulnerable, panting with fear and something else—excitement. Captain Hook was back.

His taunting words from the morning came back to her, rushing over her… She had been too sleepy to entirely comprehend he had literally intended to play games with her again. She dimly realized he was doing this to distance himself from her after their all too fraught and emotional conversation of the previous day. He was going to prove who was the Captain of this ship. Thinking quickly, she resolved that whatever happened, she would not beg or scream, but would tough it out to play and win another day. She was not going to give him that satisfaction. Trying to balance herself for whatever was coming, she began to push up on her elbows.

"Don't move," he said in a threatening hiss. Instead of attacking her, however, he sat back down and continued reading his maps and reviewing the account books, apparently totally disinterested and preoccupied. Emma lay spread out like an offering before him, and as the time ticked by, she felt more and more humiliated. Her thighs were wet with moisture and she was engorged with the want of him, with the thought of his huge cock taking her from behind while she lay helpless over the desk. The hard surface was digging into her hipbones and causing her to grimace, but every time she rose up to get some relief, she felt his hook in the small of her back, pushing her down without a word. There were no words, no threats or warnings, no filthy endearments or promises. Just silence and the rustle of papers.

At long last, after what seemed an eternity, she heard him stir, listening as he slowly unbuckled his belt and unlaced his breeches. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she bit her lip, fearful of what was coming next. He leaned over her, pressing himself against her and enveloping her in his familiar, arousing smell. For a moment Emma relaxed against him as he pulled her toward him, her hands steadying herself on the edge of the desk. Reaching around her, he ripped her shirt open with his hook and began kneading and squeezing her breasts and nipples, already sore from him last night, so roughly she couldn't help but cry out a little. Abruptly, he ceased and pushed her down again, both of them breathing hard. He spread her legs further as he lined himself up to enter her. Panting with mingled fear and excitement, she tried to relax in anticipation of stretching around him as he entered her, knowing he would want it fast and hard.

But she came close to crying out when he slammed every inch of his massive cock into her with brutal force and without preamble. As he drove his powerful cock in and out of her with relentless strokes, she shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and refused even to whimper as he selfishly appeared to take his own pleasure, without thought of her, like a common whore. It took only a few more hard thrusts before he came with a shuddering and nearly despairing groan.

Panting, he pulled out of her, re-laced his pants, and then dismissed her with a careless wave of his hand as she stood up, smoothing down her skirts. "You can go now," he said in a disinterested voice, refusing to meet her eyes and returning to his account books.

Emma said nothing, furious and humiliated, and aching in her groin because he had deliberately left her wanting and desperate for release. She fought to maintain her composure as she tidied her hair and picked up a shawl to cover her torn bodice. Certainly he had played this particular game to teach her a lesson about who had the power and, admittedly, there was a part of her that enjoyed surrendering control to him. She liked knowing she drove him insane with the desire to possess her completely by any means necessary. She knew he wanted her to feel him physically control her as his possession, to mark her like an animal.

But teaching_ her_ a lesson wasn't his main objective. He had needed to demonstrate his mastery of her _to himself_. Feeling powerless to change her mind or resist the myriad outside forces that would inevitably tear them apart, Killian Jones had let Captain Hook do the necessary dirty work to reassert his sense of command.

Emma had no problem acknowledging the terrifying reality that Killian had power over her, just as she knew she would suffer for it when they parted. And Killian knew this in his heart, but unlike Emma, he refused to accept it, fighting against fate, fighting against her.

But that didn't stop her from planning a little retribution. He wasn't the only one with power here. A little game of Captain Hook- ravishing-his-whore was one thing. But leaving her unsatisfied was just mean. A slow smile spread over her facealong with a glance of pure compassion, as she regarded him on her way out of the cabin.

*Music & Lyrics by Johnny Cash


	13. A Scandal in Bohemia

Chapter 13: A Scandal in Bohemia

**A/N Hey Cumberbitches, this one's for you. This chapter was inspired by the remake of this classic Sherlock Holmes story in the modern BBC update, "Sherlock", starring Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock and Lara Pulver as "The Woman", Irene Adler.**

After the unsettling events of the afternoon, Emma lurked in the shadows until she was sure Hook had left the cabin and returned to his other duties on deck. Pulling Isaac aside, she instructed him to simply leave their dinner outside the cabin at a prearranged hour, and not to knock or come in to lay the table.

"I have a little surprise for the Captain," she told him, "and I'll take care of everything."

Returning to the cabin as the shadows of the late afternoon began to lengthen, Emma rummaged around for some things she would need for the little surprise she was planning. She ransacked his cupboard until she found his riding clothes and other equipment he used to costume himself as the Young Lord on a Grand Tour. Then she dug into the belongings from her trousseau to find a few items she thought he would find particularly tasty. She bathed, scented, and dressed herself carefully. Then she filled and lit one of the oil lamps as the light faded outside, setting the lamp oil near the bed. She moved the desk that doubled as a table to the far side of the cabin and set one of the chairs in the middle of the room. She'd found the other items she needed in the ship's hold.

Not long after she had completed preparations for the tableau she had planned for him, she heard his slow tread descending the stairs. She immediately knew he dreaded facing her after what he had done, but she was ready for him.

When he entered the room and slowly removed his coat, she saw he was tired and wet. There had been a sudden squall in the early eveningthat had necessitated a lot of scrambling and hoarse shouting on deck to come about and then lower the sails to face the oncoming storm. In the end, it had been nothing more than some gusty wind and rain for a short period but it taken a toll at the end of long day.

She moved over to him to help him with his coat, her eyes cast submissively down. "Here, let me," she said, hanging his coat on the peg. "I know you're tired and wet. Let me help you out of your wet things," she offered.

He looked at her suspiciously, but shrugged out of his waistcoast and shirt, letting her take them. Lightly pressing her hands into his chest and pulling on his necklaces, she looked up at him from under her lashes, then pressed a finger to his lips to stop him talking. She knew he might want to apologize for his earlier callousness towards her.

"Dinner will be here soon," she said smoothly, rubbing his shoulders and biceps, "and you seem tense. Why don't you sit down in the chair and I'll rub the soreness from your shoulders and back?"

Gratefully, he seated himself in the chair. Using the lamp oil on her palms, she began firmly working his shoulders, arms, and chest with smooth, kneading strokes, her thumbs pressing hard into the knots. He groaned with pleasure and began to relax as she worked him over. She kneaded down the lengths of both arms, then pulled them both behind him to stretch out his tight chest muscles. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure, only to snap them open again in alarm when he heard the click of metal, and felt something heavy and cold snapping onto his wrists, securing them to the chair behind him.

Goddamn her. She had handcuffed him to his own chair using his own manacles.

"So I take it you're into this now?" he asked her, his tone intentionally light."

"Oh, I think I am," she breathed into his ear, walking around to stand in front of him, admiring his beautiful, naked upper body as she did so.

He blustered at her. "Oh come on, Swan, give over! You're just mad about this afternoon! I admit I went too far, but…."

She placed her hand over his mouth. "I need you to be quiet, _Captain_, because I want to show you something."

Very slowly, she untied the robe she was wearing. She opened it carefully, lifted the delicate material from her shoulders, and dropped it to the floor. She was wearing only a tightly laced white corset that showed most of her creamy white breasts right down to the apex of her pink nipples and a white lace garter belt holding up white crocheted stockings.

Helpless, he gaped at her, letting his eyes roam up and down her body while he felt himself instantly hardening with lust. His face flushed and his eyes dilated as she hovered just out of reach only a few tantalizing inches away. She smelled and looked delicious and his mouth began to water as a few drops of sweat beaded above his brow.

"Like what you see? I thought you might." She ran her fingers lightly down his chest to his belly, teasing him.

Standing in front of him, her breasts thrust towards him, she slowly pulled the laces of her corset until first one, then another, rosy nipple popped free, mere inches away from his hungry eyes. He licked his lower lip slowly and groaned, closing his eyes against temptation.

Placing one knee between his thighs, she leaned into him, her hands on the chair back, and teased his lips with one breast. "Suck them," she ordered. He licked and nipped at her, taking the nipple in and sucking it hard into a rigid peak. Becoming bolder, he began pulling in more of her breast into his mouth until she smacked him away. Then she moved to the left, inviting him to suck her left breast. Knowing he would hate himself in the morning, he eagerly nipped at her, pulling her in, biting and sucking hard, hoping she would cry out and yield to him. She began panting with excitement, emboldening his confidence. He began to bite and suck on the soft white flesh of her breasts, thinking with inward satisfaction that she could easily weaken under his touch.

She slapped him away and stood in front of him, eyeing him with dispassionate appraisal, like a horse she was considering for purchase.

She paused, one hand on her hip, and tapped her chin a few times. "You seem agitated, _Captain_, let me just see how much," she observed, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She knelt down to unbuckle his belt, removing it slowly, and then unlaced his breeches. When she opened them, his straining cock burst free and she exclaimed over his rigid erection. "You seem excited to see me," she said, feigning mild surprise. "I'll bet you'd like me to suck your cock, is that right?"

He groaned in frustration. He knew she was making him pay. He had enjoyed bending her over the desk, watching her squirm helplessly against him, utterly open and accessible to him. He had relished having her at his mercy, fucking her faster and harder than a lover would or should, fucking her like a common street whore. And now it seemed that the price of fucking that whore would be considerably higher than he had previously considered.

"Would it do any good if I begged you?" he smirked at her, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"No, _Captain_, it wouldn't," she said sharply, now feeling a little aroused herself.

He groaned inwardly. The bloody temptress. She was like one of the fabled Sirens that lured sailors to their deaths, willingly dashing themselves against the rocks with desperation and desire for the goddess who sang just out of reach. Maddened with lust and frustrated by his bound hands, he raked his eyes over her as insolently as he could manage and began twisting and pulling at the manacles to escape, cutting his wrists as he did so. All he could think about were her pink lips wrapped around his cock, then throwing her down on the bed and fucking her senseless.

"Fuck Emma! Please!" he heard himself pleading with her now.

But then she surprised him, leaning over to lick his cock like an ice lolly and teasing the tip with swirls of her tongue. He began panting, becoming more and more aroused. He rolled his hips impatiently, straining towards warm, tempting lips, the heat of her mouth. He wanted to fly out of his chair and feel the back of her throat. He groaned as she teased and licked up and down the considerable length of his swollen cock. Suddenly she stopped and looked at him.

"Bloody fucking hell, woman! Don't stop, Emma, please!" his face was agonized, utterly wrecked with desire for her.

"Oh, you like that, do you? Then I'll have to give you some more."

He was filled with blissful relief and she wrapped her beautiful pink lips around him and began to work him over, moaning and humming around him until he began to twitch slightly. She immediately stopped, made a smacking sound with her lips, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I think that's enough of that for now." She stood up smoothly and turned away from him to take a sip of (his!) rum.

He looked at her with loathing now, frustrated lust and thwarted desire all over his face. He knew that entreaties and begging would get him nowhere so he sat there, mutely, as she had done earlier that day. She was going to have her way with him this time, and there was no bloody escaping it. Fuck! He would have admired her creativity and fighting spirit if he weren't so goddamn desperate to feel her, touch her. His cock was so hard it was painful and he wasn't sure he could last much longer. He took a few deep breaths to calm down. When she did fuck him finally, he needed to be ready for her.

She circled around behind him, where he couldn't see her luscious, tempting body blotting out his every rational thought. She seemed to be pacing back and forth, a trick he knew all too well when he himself intimidated prisoners. Suddenly, just when he thought she might have forgotten him, he felt something hard held against his throat. "How does it feel, _Captain_," she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "to be helpless, manacled, and frustrated… utterly at my mercy?" Gods, she was holding his riding crop against his throat.

Standing up, she trailed the crop over his back and around to face. She scored it lightly across his chest and shoulders before leaning in closely. "Don't you think you deserve some punishment for your behavior today, _Captain_?" she said conversationally. "Because I think you do. Would you like me to fuck you first though?"

She leaned over and licked his lips lasciviously, causing him to suck his breath in sharply and strain again against the chains that held him, desperate to be closer to her, to capture her taunting, teasing lips in his.

His eyes blazed at her and she smiled triumphantly. "I thought so." She straddled him, poised just above his thighs and his straining cock. She grasped him firmly, then began to rub the head in lazy circles around the wetness of her entrance. He stifled the involuntary moan at the feel of her, the thought of plunging into her hot wetness exciting him even more. Slowly, she began to lower herself onto him, just for an inch or two, then raising herself again, just out of reach. Over and over she would admit him, only to pull away moments later. She was obviously just as aroused as he was. She was flushed and beginning to pant a little. He could feel her cunt dripping onto him and clenching around his cock every time she teased him.

"Goddamn you, Emma, you know you want it as much as I do!" he shouted, this time thrusting his hips forcefully to plunge into her when she came down over him. But she was too fast for him. Over and over, he would drive at her as she approached, only to have her move quickly out of reach.

At this point, his cock was throbbing so hard with need and frustration that he thought he would explode. She ghosted the riding crop along his thighs, then around and along his erection, then touched it lightly to his balls, causing him to sharply suck in his breath.

"You know," she said, "I'm feeling very aroused myself, and, unlike you, I did not have any release today. I think I'll have to just rectify that oversight, shall I?" she said conversationally. She spoke in exactly the same tone as if she were offering him more tea.

At this point he was praying she would in fact finally – finally! – allow him to enter her completely and fuck her like he needed to, like he knew she wanted him to. He knew the bloody Siren wanted it as badly as he did, probably more after he had taken his pleasure and deliberately left her wanting. Gods, what had he been thinking…a madness had seized him…Captain Bloody Hook does _not_ leave his woman unsatisfied! Please, he silently begged, please, please fuck me. He began licking his lips in anticipation and straining towards her with his aching cock.

Instead, she raised one leg onto the bed and rolled her hips at him. Then to complete his torture, she began stroking herself languidly with her fingers, rubbing her clit sensually, and moaning with pleasure. He heard an involuntary, lustful growl coming from his own throat. He quickly cast his eyes down. He couldn't watch! It was too painful. But then he found he couldn't look away. She threw back her head and licked her pink lips as she began to fuck herself with her fingers while he watched, helpless, tears of frustration pricking behind his eyes. Goddamn her. This woman was going to be the death of him. Completely ignoring him, she began to climax, gasping and panting as her orgasm and its aftershocks rocked through her wanton body, furiously fucking herself until she had wrung out every last bit of pleasure.

Watching her come apart while touching herself, after she had teased him for what seemed liked hours, proved to be the last straw for him. He embarrassingly exploded all over himself in the most unsatisfying and abrupt spilling of seed he had experienced since he could remember, possibly ever. It was almost painful, with no hand, mouth or tight, wet aperture to squeeze, caress and soothe him through his release. At that moment, he hated her as much as he loved her, but he had to acknowledge her power over him. She had bested him, again.

She sat down on the bed and contemplated him impassively. "You've made a mess," she said, sounding like a disapproving governess. She rapped him smartly across the tops of his thighs with the riding crop. "I won't tolerate that." He looked at her sullenly, but said nothing. Then she reached down and swiped a generous dollop of his seed from his thighs with her forefingers and shoved them in his mouth. "Suck them," she instructed him. He could taste both himself and her. He glared at her.

"Not used to this are you, _Captain_," she said mockingly. "But turnabout is fairplay, don't you agree? And poor is the pupil who does not surpass her master."

"What do you want?" he sighed hoarsely. She had given him a well deserved thrashing and it was pointless to deny it. It was up to her to lay down her terms.

"Want? What do you mean?" she asked, all innocence.

"You've had your fun. You've taught me a lesson. Now, what is your price to let me go?" he sounded resigned, but he couldn't keep a note of genuine admiration for her cleverness from creeping into his voice.

She paused, seeming to consider, then walked slowly around to stand behind him. He braced himself. She bent down closely to his ear and whispered five simple words:

"Know. When. You. Are. Beaten."

This time, he looked her straight in the eye, then gave her the slightest nod.


	14. My Mine of Precious Stones

**THANKS TO MY BRILLIANT BETA DANCING DOULA! SHE IS A GUIDE AND INSPIRATION TO ME AND A TRULY GIFTED WRITER AND EDITOR.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO FOLLOWS/FAVORITES!**

**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THEY ARE INVALUABLE AND ENCOURAGE ME TO KEEP GOING.**

Chapter 14: My Mine of Precious Stones

After Killian conceded defeat, Emma slowly walked back around to face him. She was a little surprised at her own audacity, but overall she was feeling very pleased with herself. She looked down at him lazily, her green eyes looking positively feline, like a cat toying with a mouse.

He locked eyes with hers, his too-blue eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration, humiliation, and the merest glimmer of admiration. For a few moments, there was only silence, the sound of their slightly labored breathing the only disturbance. Finally, grudgingly, he gave her the smallest, rueful grin, acknowledging that she had well and truly bested him.

Emma smiled triumphantly and sat on his lap, straddling him. Pulling him towards her with his necklaces, she began kissing him, softly but passionately, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her hands in his hair. He opened his lips and kissed her back, his tongue meeting hers, licking her lips. Gods, she felt so good, and Killian began to relax again.

"About bloody time," he growled into her mouth, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth, his hunger evident in his eyes. "Now, darling, be a good girl and unlock these cuffs. You've won, and it would be very bad form indeed to keep me chained up here." He gave her a charming, insouciant smile, and if he could have, he would have spread his hands out in a show of innocence.

"I will," she answered, kissing his neck lightly, "but once you're free, we're done for the evening. I don't want you jumping me the minute you're able," she warned him, a bit more sharply than she intended. She could feel him hardening under her again, and she herself was beginning to feel aroused, her belly tightening. She realized she had unconsciously begun to grind against him.

Seeing her flushed face and feeling her body tense, he could sense her interest. "Darling," he said in a wounded tone, "don't you trust me?"

"Not a bit," she said, trying to keep her voice light. She continued to nibble on his neck. He could feel his cock already hard again, and he thrust himself against her drenched folds, frustrated he could not free his hands to take her right then and there. He could feel the heat and desire dripping from her, and it only inflamed the fire in his own loins. _I want you_, his eyes silently pleaded

Aloud, he said accusingly, "you're the one not playing fair now. If you're denying me, then it's hardly advisable to rub yourself all over my body and kiss my neck," he pointed out, thrusting against her, and earning a grudging nod of acquiescence in return.

"Point taken," she said, climbing off him. "Give me a reason to trust you."

He sighed, martyred. "I swear by the Pirate's Code that I will not subject you to any unwanted attentions for the remainder of the night. Besides, you're so bloody dangerous and unpredictable you've probably got a dagger hidden somewhere in that nightdress." He grinned roguishly, his most charming self again. "You'd make a hell of a pirate."

Laughing despite herself, Emma circled around the back of his chair and freed him with a flourish.

Sighing, he stood up, stretched himself, and examined the cuts on his sore wrists. "Might need some rum for these," he ruminated. "You play rough, Princess."

"And you don't?" she said archly. She picked up her robe, put it on, and tied the belt securely

He smirked and moved closer. Judging her reaction by the way her eyes suddenly darkened with desire, he decided he could approach her without her enacting further retribution. Slipping his hand into her robe, he trailed his fingers across her belly, and around her waist. He slowly tugged her to him, feeling the air charge with expectancy the closer they became. With his other hand, he gathered up her hair, angling her neck back so he could kiss her. She responded coolly at first, but with increasing intensity as she felt his hard body against hers, reducing her resolve to jelly as he toyed gently with her nipple.

Breaking their kiss, she placed her hands against him. "What about the Pirate Code?" she challenged him, even as she played with the dark hair on his chest.

"Ah yes, the Pirate Code" he mused, "they're more—guidelines really," he said, continuing to play with her hair and nuzzle her cheek, his breath tickling her, "And besides, I specified that I would not subject you to any _unwanted_ attentions, and it's very obvious from your behavior that my attentions are very much wanted here." With that, he pulled her into bed with him. She didn't resist.

Their final days at sea before docking in Pontus were peaceful, even joyful for the most part. They had reached an unspoken détente that difficult and painful subjects would be avoided and they would focus instead on enjoying whatever time remained to them before the real world intruded. Wanting to spend every precious moment that remained with her, Killian turned over most of his day to day duties to Gates and Smee.

They spent many hours drinking wine or standing at the wheel together as Killian shared his many adventures to strange lands and entertained her with the colorful characters he had encountered along the way. They also spent many hours in bed as both of them found it impossible to keep their hands off one another.

"Tell me about your time in the world without magic," she asked him over dinner one night. "Is it very primitive?" She wondered how such a place could exist, and if it did would it be better or worse? She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with interest.

Putting down his cutlery, he shook his head. "Not at all. It's a place without magic of the kind we know here, but it possesses a kind of magic of its own. It's a place where the inhabitants are constantly inventing new ways of doing things, machines that can perform the work of human hands, along with other, less noble inventions that kill people more efficiently. There is a dynamism and creativity that animates that world that we here perhaps lack. We live here in a certain state of paralysis, of stasis. And there's nothing to compare to the beauty of the music, the poetry and literature, and the fantastic art created with paint and marble." We've some of that, but nowhere near what they possess." He swirled his wine in his glass, gazing at it contemplatively, then leaned back in his chair.

"That song you sang to me the other night, that was from there," she remembered. "Do you know others?" she asked curiously.

"I do but I've a better way to let you hear their beauty," he answered, suddenly inspired. He stood up and walked to the cabin door and opened it. Sticking his head out, he called Isaac to come inside.

"I brought some of the music back with me. Fantastic stuff by men with names like Handel, Mozart, and Bach. Much of it is played on instruments we don't possess, but a great deal is sung in the great stone palaces and buildings where they worship their God," he explained. "I discovered Isaac has a beautiful natural voice so I've taught him a few."

"Isaac," he prompted the boy, "would you sing a little something for the Lady?"

Isaac looked at Emma nervously. She gave him a reassuring smile. He cleared his throat, took a few breaths, then began to sing in an

otherworldly, high clear treble voice.

Panis Angelicus!

Fit panis hominum

Dat panis coelicus figuris terminum

O res mirabilis!

Manducat Dominum.

Pauper, pauper, servus et humilis.

Emma was transported. The melody, the strange words, and Isaac's voice sounded as if sung by a heavenly being, an angel. The plaintive tune sounded like a prayer, conveying thankfulness, wonder, and deep humility all at one time. Although she could not understand the words, his angelic voice touched a deep emotional chord within her. She felt like she wanted to weep but knew not whether with joy or sadness.

"Isaac," she applauded when he had stopped, wiping a tear surreptitiously from her eye, "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard! You are very talented."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said modestly, looking down at his shoes.

"What does it mean?" she said, still marveling, as Isaac, still pink with pleased embarrassment, left the cabin.

Killian translated for her. "It means:

_"Bread of the Angels_

_Is made bread for mankind; _

_Gifted bread of Heaven_

_Of all imaginings the end; _

_Oh, thing miraculous! _

_This body of God will nourish _

_the poor, the servile, and the humble"_

"So beautiful," she mused. "You're right, we've nothing to compare." He had a faraway look in his eyes and a slight smile on his face, as if remembering more innocent times. This love for music and art was a side of him she never would have guessed. He spent so much time portraying the hard-bitten pirate. When did he have time to pursue these other, nobler interests?

Folding her napkin and putting it aside, Emma pushed back her chair and regarded him with frank amazement. "How did you learn all this," she demanded to know. "You must have been there a long while

Picking up his wineglass, Killian took a long sip. "After we escaped from my world, we lived for a time in Richard's. He was concerned that I continue my education, so he sent me to a school called Eton at the recommendation of the original Hook, who had been a student there. It's where he became obsessed with the idea of good form, among other things. I like to think I've preserved a bit of that," he smiled, remembering.

She continued asking him questions until they were preparing for bed later. "Do you remember any of the poetry?" she asked as she turned back the coverlet.

"I brought as many books as I was able when Richard and I left with Hook for Neverland. And I still remember many I learned at school." He paused, then gave her a roguish grin.

Reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms and recited a few verses for her.

"_Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,_

_Until I labour, I in labour lie._

_The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,_

_Is tir'd with standing though he never fight_.

Still holding her firmly, he tangled his hand in her hair, and bent over to nip at her ear, continuing in a low, thrilling voice as he kissed her neck.

_Off with that girdle, like heaven's Zone glistering,_

_But a far fairer world encompassing._

_Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,_

_That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopped there._

His hand now wandered gently down her neck and he fondled her breasts, still laced in her corset.

_Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,_

_Tells me from you, that now it is bed time."_

"

That would be the kind of poem you could recite from memory," she teased him.

Delighted with her, he played with her hair, burying his face in her soft tresses. Then he began undoing her laces and pulling off her dress. When she was naked, he picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. Pulling off his own clothes, he slid in beside her, admiring the soft glow of her flesh in the lamplight.

_"Licence my roving hands, and let them go,_

_Before, behind, between, above, below._

He began to run his hands up and down her body, caressing her breasts and trailing down over her waist and the curve of her hip. He buried his face in her breasts, fondling them and licking and sucking the nipples into taut peaks. Emma sighed with contented pleasure. Keeping his movements controlled, he continued to recite as he caressed her.

_O my America! my new-found-land,_

_My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann'd,_

He moved his hands down over her folds, satisfied to feel her dripping wet under his touches. He gently rubbed her sensitive nub then began thrusting his fingers into her,

_My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,_

_How blest am I in this discovering thee!_

Emma gasped with pleasure, rolling her hips and giving a low moan. Removing his hand, to her evident displeasure, he continued his exquisite torture by climbing between her thighs to suck and lick at her engorged center, darting his tongue across drenched folds and sucking on her clit. For a moment, he raised his head over her warm, impatient wetness to look at Emma's face with an impish grin.

_To enter in these bonds, is to be free;_

_Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be."_

"

Seems very apropos, don't you think," he asked her, smirking. "It's by a man called John Donne and the poem is called 'To His Mistress On Going To Bed.' In that particular stanza he compares caressing his lover to exploring an undiscovered realm, and he's damned right." He hovered, tantalizing close, his hot breath tickling her and sending chills up her spine and fire through her veins.

Emma was breathless with desire, nearly over the edge, but she couldn't help herself laughing a little, "Killian, please don't ever stop surprising me."

He didn't.

The day before they were due in Pontus, Killian spent a little time at the wheel, his thoughts as usual completely obsessed with his Princess. Already he was fidgeting with impatience to return to her side and feel her near him, hating every moment apart from her. He cursed himself, knowing that he was hopelessly in love with her and there was not a thing he could do about it. He could barely concentrate on anything because he could not stop thinking about having her, every minute of every day. Knowing she was so close made it even more difficult. The past two years had been a matter of fantasies and daydreams. Her presence had made it utterly impossible to think about anything other than touching her. Gods, what a woman she was! Fearless in taking him on, never backing down when he tried to intimidate her, and so beautiful he felt weak at the knees every time he looked at her. Remembering how she had bested him, he felt the full force of her victories. He knew when he was beaten. Always he had known that falling for a woman was to expose a deadly weakness, and now he found himself in a position he had spent his life avoiding. In all likelihood, he reflected, his weakness for her would prove to be his undoing. Frowning, he tried again to concentrate on steering the ship.

He was interrupted when Gates, the quartermaster, approached him to go over the accounts and consider strategy for their upcoming destination of Pontus, so he turned the wheel over to Smee. Gates began going over the inventory lists from the captured booty and then asked him how, logistically speaking, he planned to ransom the Lady Swan. Would he use an intermediary, and if so, who would be the best choice? Gates also pointed out that by the time they reached Pontus, it would have become apparent that the _Enchanted Island _and its precious cargo had gone missing. How would they react if King Titus of Vargos sent his navy out to find them?

Hook scowled at him. "You don't need to worry. I've got it all worked out," he lied.

Gates looked at him skeptically. "Captain," he said, "I mean no disrespect. You and me, we've sailed together many, many years. And you've always been a fair Captain and made a good deal of money for all of us. But forgive me for saying that it is obvious to all of us that you're besotted with her and it's got me and the crew a bit worried. You can't think to keep her, you know." His tone conveyed a warning.

Pulling himself together, Hook gave a hard look at Gates and cleared his throat. "Of course not! I already have a proposal for the Lady Livia of Pontus and it will be immensely beneficial for all of us. She can be relied upon to make the arrangements. You've nothing to worry about," he reiterated.

Gates gave him a searching look. "You sure about that, then?"

"Dead sure, and I don't appreciate your questioning me or my motives," Hook said menacingly, closing a fist tightly.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Gates, excusing himself. "Again, I meant no disrespect."

Killian felt sick to his stomach. Why did he have to be reminded of this? The thought of ransoming his Princess, of voluntarily turning her over to another man, made him physically ill. Taking care not to appear in a hurry, he descended to the deck, opened his cabin door and disappeared inside. He'd already seen Emma on the deck earlier, and knew he would be alone. Sagging into the chair in front of his desk, he pulled out his flask and shakily poured himself a more than generous shot of rum to steady his nerves. He drank it off and then poured himself another. Then another. His thoughts whirled back and forth on themselves like an animal in a trap. His crew had always been loyal, but failure to secure a ransom for the Princess could risk a mutiny and loss of his ship. And even if they could be bought off, which he thought he might be able to manage, she herself had said from the beginning that it was either marriage to the Prince or, she believed, death and starvation for the people of her kingdom. Now that he had come to know her better, he had a hard time believing she could choose him – a pirate and criminal—over her duty, no matter how much she loved him.

He'd been reckless, hadn't thought things through. All he'd thought or planned to do was somehow find her, be with her again, and at least finish what they had started that night when she hid him in her bed and saved him from capture. Why did it have to be so fucking complicated? Perhaps he should do the noble thing, return her to the Prince and simply enjoy what little time they had together? And yet…and yet, the image of a another man, some poncy prince who barely even knew her, who did not in any way even deserve her, pawing at her with his sweaty hands, touching her perfect breasts, climbing between her white thighs and penetrating her secret places, the places where he had touched her and brought her to ecstasy, tormented him to the point of derangement. He glowered darkly and poured more rum. She was his, goddamnit, no one else was going to have her! He slammed his fist down on the desk. And by the time Emma returned to the cabin late in the afternoon, the Captain was good and drunk and had worked himself up into a jealous rage.

The moment she entered the room she could sense something was wrong. She froze when she caught sight of him. His hair and clothes were disheveled and his handsome face bore a scowl of fury. He flopped back in his chair, legs stuck straight out and crossed in front of him. He looked absolutely wrecked and about to fall out of his chair. Striding towards the desk to stand over him, she put her hands on her hips and regarded him. "You're drunk," she said matter-of-factly. "Why?"

He stood up, swayed slightly, then seized her shoulders and began to back her up against the wall. "I need to have you…._right now_," he growled, his face close to hers, scratching her with his scruff, the smell of rum on his breath overpowering.

He began to kiss her desperately, all lips, tongue and teeth as he ravaged her mouth. Realizing he was in pain and close to out of control, Emma returned his kiss, running her hands through his hair and rubbing his neck as he hitched her leg up with one hand and began grinding against her.

Fumbling with his laces, Emma stopped him. "Here, let me," she said, unlacing him and grasping his cock. She stroked him, and he groaned with pleasure into her mouth. He was breathing in ragged, stuttering gasps. She quickly eased out of her undergarments and pulled up her skirt to grant him the access he craved.

He eagerly pulled her legs up and lifted her in his arms. She linked her ankles around his waist and clung to him as he pressed her up against the wall and drove into her in one brisk, fluid motion that caused her to cry out with pain and pleasure as he suddenly filled and stretched her. Plunging in and out of her, she could feel her passion burning hotter and hotter, her body as tense as a bowstring about to let fly. She could feel herself beginning to climb as he growled filthy endearments and curses into her ear. Something about his wildness and need excited her, her body responding of its own accord, and she began moaning and contracting her muscles around him, squeezing him. Her craving for his body was so intense she wanted to swallow him up inside her and melt into him. She wanted to eat him alive. She wanted him to eat her alive. She began tearing at his back with her nails and biting his lip until she could taste blood as she sucked on him.

"Oh that's it, Emma, oh gods, your hot cunt feels so bloody good I could fuck you for days…no other man can make you come like I can…I can't lose you… " he groaned, his jealousy and pain causing him to fuck her furiously.

She kissed him roughly, biting at his lips and down his neck, sucking him with enough force to leave bruises. She was panting and moaning with need, encouraging him, "No one can ever fuck me like you….oh gods Killian I'm so close….I love your cock inside me… it's all I think about, wanting you every minute….I'm always wet, soaking wet for you …. I need you to fuck me…oh gods it's happening…." She began convulsing around him, a white light exploding in her head as the waves took her crashing down, over and over.

Feeling her come undone, he gasped, paused, then with two deep surges, he exploded into her. She could feel his cock jump inside her as he released his seed and she rode out her aftershocks, grinding against him and milking the last of his sticky release. They were both shaking and fell against the wall, panting. He continued to kiss and caress her face and hair frantically. "I can't bear the thought of another man touching you," he panted into her ear with a sound that sounded like a sob. "It would kill me." She reached up, touching his cheek, softly. "I know," she replied, her voice heartbroken, "I love you too."

They stood still a few minutes until their breathing gradually calmed. "Thank you for that, love," he whispered in her ear, as he let her legs down gently.

She said nothing, just lay with her head against his chest, her arms still around him. It seemed that the storm had passed, for now.

Helping him into bed, she crawled in next to him. Within minutes, he was passed out cold but Emma stayed close beside him, tucked under his arm, one leg thrown over his. She stayed awake for a long time, every so often tenderly kissing and smoothing his hair, his handsome face, his chest and belly. She rubbed her face in his scruff and against his chest. If he had been conscious, he would also have been aware of the tears that bathed him, along with her caresses.

**HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A REVIEW. I LOVE YOU ALL!**


	15. Devil Town

**I HAVE SOME FUN HERE—THERE'S AN HOMAGE TO PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN /THE BLACK PEARL + I NAMED THE CHAPTER AS A SHOUT OUT TO FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS, WHICH I FINALLY WATCHED RECENTLY. IF KILLIAN WERE A DILLON PANTHER, HE WOULD DEFINITELY BE TIM RIGGINS.**

Chapter 15: Devil Town

Emma had wept over his sleeping body into the small hours of the early morning. He continued sleeping soundly. She knew it because he didn't twitch a muscle as she traced the hollows and swells of his body, memorizing the feel of his warm strength lingering beneath her hand, offering safety and surety and an alternate life that would take her away from the loveless marriage she'd agreed to.

But how could she cast her people's suffering aside and break off her engagement to Prince James? It was her duty, the honourable thing to do. Her people, starved, slaughtered and devastated by ceaseless war, deserved no less. How could she cast their suffering aside and break off her engagement in order to pursue her own heedless, selfish passion for a pirate? How could she even consider her own feelings when the lives of innocents were at stake? When she had hesitated or doubted, she would firmly push the evil day from her mind, overwhelmed with the magnitude of the repercussions, deciding she would think about it tomorrow.

Last night, however, there was no evading it. Thinking about saying good-bye to him forever, never see him again, tore at her heart and without even realizing it she began to weep as she hovered over his unconscious body, Anxiously, she traced all the hollows running along and between his muscles, reveling in his strength and firmness, how safe she felt with him. She traced light, gentle kisses along the scars on his chest and belly, longing to go further but reluctant to wake him. Where would she find the moral and physical strength to leave him, to actually turn her back to him and walk out of his life forever? She tried to imagine life without him, and how it would feel to have another man touch her, hold her, possess her the way he had done.

Bile rose in the back of her throat. The very thought of any other man touching her filled her with dread. How could she go through with marriage to another? Wouldn't her husband have certain legitimate expectations? She struggled to control herself, but her tears continued to fall all over Killian's chest as he breathed gently in and out.

What would daily life be like? How would she live every single day regretting that she couldn't be with the man she truly loved? To wake to a beautiful morning, only to feel the crushing sensation of loss knocking the wind out of her? To spend every day craving his touch, wanting him, needing him, yet unable to ever see him again? Surely she would drive herself mad with grief and loss, the bloom gone from her face, dried up and dead inside as a withered stump.

Worse, she knew with complete conviction that if she left him, it would break his heart. Although he was a hard man, even dangerous, she had pulled down the fortress around his tender, romantic heart stone by stone. She remembered the agony in his voice when he took her against the wall, telling her over and over he couldn't bear to lose her. He was probably the most exposed and vulnerable he had been since the horror of losing his family as a boy, a loss so traumatic he could not bring himself to disclose the details to her. She feared she would shatter him into a million pieces, perhaps turn him back to the dark side, only now he would be darker than ever.

Her mother always told her that in the world light would eventually prevail over darkness, but from where she was standing it looked like the dark currently claimed a lot more territory. The guilt she would feel for breaking his heart would be even more difficult to bear than her own heartbreak. Tearing herself away from him, she went to the washbasin, wet a cloth, and bathed her eyes. She had to get herself under control and besides, she didn't want to wake him up to her ugly cryface.

As she stood with her hands resting against the table, eyes closed, it occurred to her to question whether her sacrifice would really achieve the objective she sought. Her parents suspected King Titus, believing him a deceitful, unscrupulous ruler who could hardly be trusted to keep his word once he had Emma in his possession. In fact, it could make matters worse if he broke their treaty and attacked the western kingdoms with her as a hostage. Her head suddenly began to ache fiercely—her sacrifice couldn't be in vain, could it? She knew Killian was skeptical; perhaps she should be as well.

Climbing back into bed, she snuggled up to him, her hand resting on his chest, soothed by the steady beating of his heart. Perhaps she should explore the options once they reached the port of Pontus the next day. Perhaps there might be another way. She would talk to Killian about it over dinner that night, after he had taken care of his business there perhaps they could even write to her parents seeking their advice. She pressed her body more firmly against her pirate's and fell asleep to the hope that maybe there was another way.

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Exhausted, she slept late the next morning. When Emma finally awakened, breakfast had arrived and Killian was putting the final touches on what had obviously been a rather elaborate toilette. He was in his full fearsome pirate regalia, hook in place, his most elegant red brocade waistcoat, black linen shirt open halfway down his chest, his finest boots, and freshly kohl-rimmed blue eyes. A new sparkly red earring dangled from one ear. He cut quite a striking figure, and Emma rolled onto her side to admire him for a few moments, smiling.

Catching sight of her peeking at him, he gave her his best piratical leer and pirouetted gracefully. "How do I look, my sweetheart – wait, don't tell me, I know I look amazing," he winked at her.

She rolled her eyes at him, amused and relieved he seemed not to feel any ill effects of the previous night. She couldn't say the same herself. Her eyes felt swollen, and she was sore and tender from his hard use of her. She grimaced as she got out of bed and pulled on her robe.

"I was going to ask if you had a splitting headache from last night, but apparently you're none the worse," she said, shaking her head at his apparently iron constitution.

"'Course not," he grinned, "and as you can see, I have a performance to give when we reach Pontus." Reaching for his flask, he unscrewed it and raised it in a silent toast towards her. "Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," he said under his breath, taking a long pull.

Pulling her chair out, he invited her to sit down for breakfast. As they began eating, his face turned serious again.

"I expect to be docking in Pontus by mid afternoon, and we are going to have to be extremely careful in how we handle this," he explained, his brow furrowing as he picked up his tea.

"What do you mean? What's in Pontus?" she asked, helping herself to some jam.

"I won't lie to you, love. We've come to a dangerous place."

"Why – other than the obvious problem of having a stolen Princess on board, and by now Titus has probably realized I haven't turned up?"

"Yes, of course, that's the main thing," he said, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip and rubbing at the back of his neck. She could tell he was nervous.

"Pontus is a very wealthy mercantile island located midway across the main trading routes. It serves as a transshipment point for many goods, including smuggled and stolen goods. It's a pirate and smuggler's haven, and all the pirate captains rely on a woman known as Lady Livia to purchase their purloined merchandise and resell it to legitimate markets, in return for a healthy cut of the profits. In return, we are protected, and many pirates have refuges of their own in the chain of smaller islands that lie to the south of Pontus. She also handles a great deal of legitimate cargo, largely tax-free, so her continued independence suits the rival kingdoms."

"And Lady Livia?" Emma asked, pouring her own tea and tearing off some bread. "How did she become so powerful?"

"About fifty years ago, a pirate captain named Augustus Julian established a trading colony there. Captain Gus, everyone called him. He was a genial and charming man who used guile, cunning and conviviality to build a modest trading post into a veritable mercantile empire. He was a modest man, never lorded it over the captains, always presented himself as the first among equals. But he ruled Pontus and the other islands with an iron fist in a velvet glove. And Livia, his wife, ruled Gus. When he died a few years ago, her son nominally took over, but she's the real power. And she keeps strict order with her own private praetorian guard. Only person who could in a place like this," he finished darkly.

Emma paused, setting her teacup down. "She sounds a formidable woman. You even seem a little afraid of her."

"I'd be a fool not to be," he said, his tone deadly serious. "Let's just say that anyone who crosses Livia is likely to encounter some kind of – fatal accident. Perhaps they become very sick after consuming a meal, and die the next morning of food poisoning. Perhaps someone falls off a ship in the dark somewhere, apparently having lost his footing while drunk or during a storm. Maybe he just gets a quick knife in his belly in a dark alley. She can also cut any captain off from trading; that alone could finish most."

"Now, listen to me carefully," he said, dropping his napkin and leaning forward. "I'm going to caution the men, including those from your ship, whom I presume were chosen because of their loyalty to you and your parents, that no one is to mention your presence. I will tell them any hope of receiving a reward for your safe return will disappear if it becomes known too quickly, and your life could be endangered as well. Nonetheless, we cannot count on secrecy once the men are in the taverns drinking and whoring. We'll need to keep you hidden for the time being while I meet with Lady Livia and negotiate terms. I plan to keep our time in Pontus as short as possible"

"Just how do you propose to hide me?" she asked, feeling a bit frightened suddenly. She decided now was not the moment to bring up her second thoughts of the previous night. He had enough on his mind as it was.

"I'm going to hide you – in plain sight," he said mysteriously.

ßßßßßßßßß

"Try to hold still and stop squirming, love," he scolded her later that afternoon.

"I can't help it, you're hurting me!" she complained.

Patiently, he continued winding a long bandage around her back and tightly across her chest, binding her breasts down so hard they hurt.

"Ouch," she said, "I can hardly breathe!" she clutched his arm to steady herself.

"Darling, believe me it hurts me more than it hurts you to hide these beauties away," he leered at her, "As you know how much I love them. But for a slender woman, your breasts are very full and we can't run the risk of anyone sussing on to the fact you're a woman."

He next wound a folded up sheet around her waist to hide the curves of her waist and hips and tied it off. Then he handed her rough muslin breeches and loose shirt, a knitted hat, and a brown cloak. Some old boots—probably belonging to Isaac—were the finishing touch.

He spun her around, admiring his handiwork. "Last, but not least, take this and put it in your boot," he said, handing her a dagger. "If anyone comes at you, stab them with the pointy end and run like hell."

"I know how to use a dagger, and a sword, for that matter," she said indignantly.

He grinned, reached over, and mussed up her hair. "You know you're adorable when you're mad." He leaned over and kissed her nose. Then he reached into a pot of black grease and smeared some on her face.

"Well," she said, grinning despite herself, "how do I look?"

He smiled, "I've seen you looking more beautiful, but you'll do." He looked into her eyes lovingly and tweaked her nose lightly with his fingers.

They made their way to the deck and down the gangplank. He turned to her and whispered, "Remember, keep your head down, try not to talk, and walk a step or two behind me."

As they left the ship, Emma could see the men were nearly done unloading their cargo from the ship to the warehouses that lined the harbor. Another stream of men carried goods in the opposite direction and back onto the ship, re-supplying the Jolly for the next journey.

When they reached the end of the long pier, Emma gasped in surprise. It was nothing like she had expected. Instead of a ramshackle collection of taverns, inns and brothels, a broad, clean avenue lined with palm trees stretched off into the distance toward a rather imposing looking, palatial residence of some kind. The street itself was lined with handsome buildings made of stucco and occasionally marble, painted in a variety of colors.

Noticing her wonder at the scale and splendor of the town, Hook leaned over and said quietly, "Aye, boy, it's a wondrous site, is Pontus. Filled with riches, corruption, and carnal pleasures."

Suddenly, a richly dressed, rather beautiful woman walking past them caught sight of Hook, stopped, and slapped him clean across the face.

Hook didn't flinch, just kept moving. "I _did not_ deserve that!"

Emma frowned at him from under her cloak.

Further on, a petite and lovely redhead approached Hook, and gave him a second, hard slap. Emma felt herself inhale sharply. What the hell had he been up to here?

"I _may_ have deserved that," he said, walking faster. Emma had to scurry to keep up, feeling infuriated with him.

When they were nearly to the palace at the end of the street, a stately brunette descended from a carriage blocking their path. Striding up to Hook, she glared angrily at him before she, too, slapped him in the face.

"I _definitely_ deserved that," he admitted sheepishly, side eying Emma. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Sorry love, but that was all in the past, before I met you."

Emma ignored him, squaring her shoulders and soldiering on, refusing to look at him.

Entering the imposing residence, she heard Hook say to the footman who answered the door, "Tell the Lady that Captain Hook is here to pay his respects to her."

A short time later, the footman led them into a splendidly decorated antechamber. "Tell your boy to wait here," the footman instructed, "The Lady will see you now." He indicated the closed double doors. Hook entered, and the footman pulled the doors together behind him, not quite closing them. Then he left her alone in the antechamber.

She sat on a chair near the door, miserable, straining to overhear the conversation.

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Lady Livia rose, extending her hand for him to kiss. Hook bowed, kissing her hand respectfully.

"Lady," he said, "it is always an honor and a pleasure."

"Sit down," she ordered, indicating a chair. Then she sat down in a chair opposite him, tenting her fingers together, regarding him silently, a little sneer of contempt on her aged, but still handsome, countenance.

Hook looked down at the floor, fidgeting nervously under her scrutiny. What was the old Gorgon thinking? Although she could never be described as warm, she seemed downright hostile.

Finally, she spoke, her voice theatrically plummy and cultivated. "Are you out of your mind? Her words cut through the silence like the lash of a whip.

"Lady," he protested, "whatever do you mean? I have brought you some unusually rich plunder, I thought you'd be pleased!"

"Don't bother trying your smooth lines on me," she said. "It won't work. You know as well as I do I'm speaking of a certain royal person you have in your possession."

"Why would you think I had – this person – even if such a person exists, that is," Hook replied, his face impassive.

"I know that a royal Princess from the Western Kingdoms was traveling northeast, incognito, to Vargos to wed the Crown Prince there. I know that you were the only Captain who was plying those waters at the time – plying them excessively recklessly from all reports, I might add. And I've just gone through the inventory list of the goods you unloaded. Funny how they resemble exactly a royal dowry. So you can drop the act."

"Well, what if I did?" he protested, indignant. "I was under the impression a royal hostage might fetch a rather large ransom. Are you telling me you're not interested in the prospect?"

Outwardly, he kept his face smooth. Inwardly, he was in a panic. He should have known the Old Dragon would know. Again he could feel the outside world pressing in on him again, threatening to tear her from him. He needed to buy some time.

"Ordinarily, yes of course I'd be interested! But not this one. She's dangerous. Titus is a powerful, dangerous man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants! The man is an absolute monster, worse than the Dark One himself, especially with the sorceress they call the Red Witch at his side. When it becomes known she's here, he'll send a few man-o-war ships to take her back. This isn't just you we're talking about! He'll destroy us all," her voice sounded angry. "She must be sent to Vargos as soon as we can arrange terms. Luckily his armies and navy are engaged elsewhere. He won't send them unless he has to – but he won't pay a king's ransom either so make your mind up to it."

Hook looked at her mutinously. "Has it ever occurred to you that she might not want to go to Vargos?" he asked sullenly.

Livia gave him a withering look that would have cowed lesser men. "There is not a thing in this world that has ever occurred to _you_ that has not occurred to _me_ first! You'll give her up and that's the end of it." She gave him an appraising look, her eyes widening with a realization. "What, fallen in love with her, have you? Well, you always were weak with women, Hook. It will be your undoing."

Thinking furiously, Hook decided to keep silent. He needed an escape plan.

"You can stay here one night, then you'd better take your ship and make for that bolthole you keep down in the southern islands. I'll negotiate the best terms I can with Titus, then I'll send a ship to collect her. And if you try to resist or flee, we'll find you, destroy you, your ship, your entire crew, and still take her to Vargos. And if I don't, Titus will, make no mistake."

"Now go," she ordered, rising and indicating the door. Furious, he began walking towards the door to leave, praying Emma was still safely disguised in the antechamber.

"Oh, and Hook," she called. He turned around to face her again. "A word of advice before you go. It's rarely possible to mix business and pleasure." She gave him an almost pitying look, before hissing a final warning.

"And when it is… it's generally advisable not to."

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Sitting just outside the door in the antechamber, Emma bit her nails as she overheard the entire conversation. Realizing her hands were trembling, she clasped them hard against her knees. There was no way out. Her hopeful idea of the morning that perhaps she and Killian could find a way out of their predicament was but a fleeting dream. Lady Livia's hard words made it clear that failure to stick to her deal would mean death and destruction for Killian as well as her own people. She couldn't be responsible for that.

The trap had snapped shut.

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	16. Far From Any Road

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Chapter 16: Far From Any Road*

_From the dusty mesa her looming shadow grows_

_Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote._

_She twines her spines up slowly towards the boiling sun,_

_And when I touched her skin, my fingers ran with blood._

Killian's face was like thunder as he shot through the double doors and motioned for her to follow him. Scurrying after him, she had a hard time keeping up with his long strides as he passed through the elaborate portico and descended the marble staircase. Before passing through the gates to the street, he paused, pulling back behind a pillar and taking out his spyglass. He gave the area a good long look, shut the spyglass, and returned it to his pocket. Then he pulled her through the gate and along the adjacent wall. It was twilight and he kept to the shadows, occasionally darting down an alley and through a backstreet, looking behind them to ensure they weren't being followed.

She realized now was not the time for talking, so she merely did her best to keep up with him, darting furtive glances all around her. She was filled with a sense of dread, the quaint pastel buildings and blooming flowers suddenly seeming to reek of sickness, rot, and corruption. Her heart hammered and she itched to pull the dagger from her boot. Regaining the quay at last, they moved stealthily between and behind the waiting loads of barrels and containers until they reached the ship, slipping back onto the deck silently.

"Smee, where are you?" the Captain called softly. The first mate scurried around the corner.

"Yes, Captain?"

The Captain leaned down close to his ear. "Listen to me carefully. I know the men are drinking and whoring in town. Send Isaac round to collect – discretely - all the men seeking to return to Ithaca with me. Don't bother with the others. Get the ship ready to leave just before daybreak. Don't make a fuss or draw attention to our plans, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Captain, I understand," he said apprehensively. "Anything else?"

"Post a couple of guards to watch my cabin – again, discretely. Tell them I expect possible intruders, so be vigilant. I don't intend to be there, but I'll be back before daybreak. Make haste!" He whirled, his long coat swirling around him as he tugged Emma down the cabin stairs.

"What are you planning to do?" she asked, her voice tight. "I heard every word of your conversation. There's no way out, and what's more, I'm now the one putting you in danger, not the other way around and I can't have that!" Her voice was becoming heated.

He barely paid attention, quickly running about the cabin gathering things they would need to take with them – wherever he planned to take them – for the night.

He stopped, rubbed the back of his neck distractedly, and regarded her for a moment. Taking her in his arms, he tried to soothe her obvious distress. "Darling, I know it sounds bad. But I've been in dire straits before and still found a way to land on my feet. We need to keep our heads, and at this point our best bet is follow Livia's instructions and get away as soon as possible."

"Here?" she said, calming a bit under his touch.

"No, we'll go to ground at a safe house I know in the area until dawn, then we'll slip away to Ithaca. I told you many pirate captains keep their own islands south of here as safe havens – a home of sorts. That's mine," he explained.

"Wait – you have your own island?" she asked, incredulous.

"What, are you surprised? It's not enormous but it's enough for me, some of my most loyal crew, and their families. Piracy has been a lucrative profession for me, after all," he winked. Even in the face of what felt like mortal danger, he was still incorrigible. She sighed in resignation.

He threw his satchel back over his head and towed her upstairs and over to the starboard side where there was a small launch attached. He dropped the rope ladder down the side, heaved himself over, then motioned for her to follow. Helping her down, they dropped into the small boat, Emma settling herself at the forward end while Killian picked up the oars, sat in the rear and began silently rowing them across the dark water.

They crossed the harbor toward a very small point of land jutting into the bay on the eastern side. As they came nearer, Emma noticed the moss hanging from the trees and the reeds that grew thickly in the water, rustling as they passed through. They traveled steadily up what appeared to be a small bayou, the sound of frogs and insects shrill and dense in the inky darkness.

After a time, Killian headed toward the shore, mooring at small dock. She could make out the bare outlines of a largish house, an oil lamp burning in a room near the back. Helping her from the boat, they made their way up the small lawn and Killian rapped softly on the back door.

An apple-cheeked, older woman with wire glasses and grey hair opened the door. "Why Killian Jones," she exclaimed, "by what manner of mischief have you washed up on my doorstep this time?" Her tone was stern but her eyes twinkled.

"Why, Granny darling, you're looking younger and more beautiful than ever," he said happily, giving her a hug. "Oh, this is a…my cabin boy, Emmet," he said, gesturing to Emma. Emma nodded, her head low.

Giving her a knowing look, Granny bustled them into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and leaned out the door to yell "Ruby! Come on down. Killian's here."

A strikingly beautiful brunette appeared and gave Killian a warm embrace.

Emma couldn't help staring, a small bloom of jealousy beginning to bubble inside the pit of her stomach. Ruby turned to smile at her. "Is this your latest cabin boy?" she asked playfully, "He's cute!"

"Ruby, take the boy into the parlor and get him a blanket to warm him up. I'll get us some tea and something to eat. I need to talk to Killian."

Ruby put a friendly hand on Emma's slightly stiff and resisting shoulder, and guided her through the hall into the parlor, and bade her sit before the cheerful fire on one of the comfortable chairs.

Emma sat in guarded silence, looking up from under her lashes. Ruby sat down across from her, appraising her silently for several minutes. At last, she broke the silence, her voice gentle.

"Emma, I know who you are."

Emma looked up quickly, trying to gauge what she meant. Had she heard about a stolen Princess? Had the rumors spread all over Pontus?

"It's fine," said Ruby, patting her hand, "you're Snow's daughter. I'd know you anywhere! We've been friends for many years."

"Ruby?" said Emma, in disbelief, "I know who you are! My mother speaks of you all the time."

"I miss her too, and we correspond regularly. I knew you had gone missing, and there were rumors that Killian was the pirate captain who took you. I've written to Snow to let her know I thought you were probably fine if you were with him."

"Why would you say that?" Emma's voice turned suspicious again.

"Because he's a good man," she said simply.

"How do you know that?" Emma asked sharply, "Are you two…were you two…"

"No! It's not like that. We're old friends, he helps us out, we help him out, and to be honest, the two of us have a certain eccentric – affinity – in common. But we are not lovers and never have been, though it appears you're certainly in love with him."

"Is it that obvious?" Emma said sheepishly, at the same time wondering about the nature of their "affinity."

"Pretty much."

Just then, they were interrupted by Granny and Killian carrying cold roast chicken, some ripe mangoes, and a plate of biscuits. Killian and Emma were both starving and managed to eat almost everything. A couple of tankards of ale later, they were both getting sleepy, exhausted from the day's physical and emotional toll.

Ruby showed them upstairs to a bedroom and withdrew discretely.

"I explained the situation to Granny and she's going to help us out," he told her. "I reckon we have only a few hours to sleep before we need to get back to the ship without prying eyes spying on us." He didn't tell her, however, that according to Granny, some strange men came knocking on her door the previous day, looking for Killian. He wasn't sure if they'd been sent by Livia or Titus at this point, but it made him even more uneasy.

Without bothering to remove even his boots, he pulled Emma onto the bed with him and stretched out, tucking her under his arm. Reaching into her shirt, he growled, running into the sheeting and bandages he'd wound around her that morning as part of her disguise. Emma pushed his hands away "Stop," she said, sternly, "you're exhausted and we don't have much time to sleep as it is."

Ignoring his protests, she straddled him instead and began massaging his tired shoulders and rubbing the furrows from his brow. She felt him relax under her gentle, but firm fingers, the tension ebbing from his face and body. Closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, Killian caressed her thighs gently until dropping off into a deep sleep, a slightsmile across his handsome face. Satisfied, Emma crept up his body and planted a kiss on his full lips. "Goodnight, sweet Prince," she whispered," ghosting a finger softly over his cheek.

Assured by his deep, even breathing that he was sleeping soundly, Emma carefully rolled away from him and off the bed. She began pacing restlessly, feeling wide awake, both from having slept late that morning as well as feeling keyed up from the tumult of her emotions and the unexpectedly dangerous turn events had taken.

She also felt dirty, the remnants of grease still on her face. Rooting around for some soap and a towel, she went down the back stairs to the small washroom and privy Ruby had shown her earlier. She had to feel her way carefully in the darkness, but she managed to wash her face, hands and neck and clean her teeth. Feeling somewhat refreshed, she ascended the stairs again and began walking down the long hall to the back door of their room. She had nearly reached it when she heard a small sound behind her. Leaning down quickly, she pulled the dagger from her boot and held it loosely away from her, straining to see in the darkness.

Suddenly, a large shape emerged from the stairwell, moving toward her. Tensing herself, she coiled to spring at him and stab him with the dagger when she heard a sudden, whooshing sound, followed by a soft thud. The dark shape seemed to freeze, throw its hands up, and then collapse into her.

Dazed, she saw Granny, followed by Ruby with an oil lantern, just putting down her crossbow. An arrow was lodged in the man's back. Emma rolled him off her, panting, as Granny and Ruby rushed over to make sure he was dead.

The commotion outside the door woke Killian from a deep sleep just in time to see someone poised over his sleeping form, a dagger raised high above his head. Reflexively, Killian rolled away from the blade just as it slashed downward. The blade missed his heart and lungs, but cut right through his left shoulder. While the man was temporarily off balance, Killian rolled back, seized the man by the collar and head-butted him hard, feeling the sickening crunch of the man's nose beneath his forehead. Dazed, the man staggered back, but remained on his feet, the blade in hand, as he began to move toward Killian again.

Hearing the sounds of a struggle, Emma jumped up and left the man in the hall to Granny and Ruby. "Killian!" she screamed, opening the door and seeing another intruder raising the blade over him to strike. He was too far across the room for her to jump him. Instinctively, she raised her knife over her head and hurled it across the room as hard as she could. Thhhwwuwump. Her aim was true. The point of the blade pierced his back and drove straight into his heart. Dropping his knife, he fell to the floor.

"Killian," she screamed, running to him, "Oh my gods, you're hurt!" She was frantic as she saw the blood pouring from his shoulder.

Clutching his shoulder, his face pale with pain, he still managed to smile a little at her. "Bloody hell, Emma, where in the universe did you learn to throw a blade like that?" His tone was frankly admiring, even incredulous.

"I told you I knew how to use a dagger and sword, and my mother's an expert archer, so I have a little bit of practice at finding a target," she answered absently, busy finding a rag, soaking it with rum, and trying to inspect his wounded shoulder.

Granny and Ruby came running. "Can you boil some water and get me some bandages?" Emma asked. "He's bleeding a lot and we need to stop it, dress the wound, and get him out of here before someone else comes after us." Ruby went to boil the water and find some more alcohol, while Granny went to her medicine chest to find bandages, some herbs she made into a poultice, and a needle and thread. Emma continued tearing pieces off her shirt, soaking them in rum, and holding it firmly against the violent red tear in his shoulder. She tried not to panic as he became paler and paler until his eyelids fluttered shut. When Granny returned, she put a soothing hand on Emma's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he's probably just fainted. It'll be easier that way when we stitch him up." She expertly threaded a circular needle and bade Emma hold the sides of the wound together. Emma felt nauseous as she watched the needle pierce Killian's skin again and again, but she held herself together. When Granny was about halfway done, Killian came to with a grimace as he felt the needle. "Here," Ruby instructed, pouring some rum down his throat. Gulping it gratefully, his head fell back on the pillow, he gritted his teeth, and nodded at Granny to continue. When she finished, she applied the poultice to the wound and Emma helped her wrap the bandage around him and secure it.

"Can you walk if we help you," Emma asked anxiously. He nodded, still pale.

Granny wrapped a blanket around Killian as Ruby and Emma struggled to help him to his feet, down the stairs, and out of the house to the boat. Climbing into the boat, Ruby and Emma took turns rowing back toward the ship. By the time they reached it, Emma was trembling with exhaustion. When their small vessel bumped up against the Jolly, a familiar head looked over.

"Who goes there?" said Smee.

"It's me, Emma, with the Captain," whispered Emma. "He's hurt. I'll need you to toss down the rope to help me haul him up." Smee disappeared, and a rope with a looped end was thrown down. Emma wrapped it under his arms, then untied the sheeting around her waist to protect the wound from the burn and pressure of the rope. Nonetheless, Killian groaned softly as they hauled him up to the deck. Then Smee lowered the rope ladder for Emma.

Grasping one side, Emma turned to Ruby. "You take the boat back. And thank you, Ruby, for everything. Thank Granny too. I think we would both be dead without you," she said sincerely.

"May the gods go with you, Emma, and I'll let Snow know you're all right," Ruby whispered back.

"Thank you."

"Oh and Emma," she hesitated, "good luck to you and Killian. I want you to know you are very lucky to have him."

Smiling in acknowledgement, Emma nodded. "And he is lucky to have me," she said softly, grasping the rope and beginning to climb.

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_And rise with me forever across the silent sand,  
And the stars will be your eyes and the wind will be my hands._

***THESE ARE LYRICS FROM THE THEME MUSIC TO THE HBO SERIES TRUE DETECTIVE BY THE HANDSOME FAMILY. CANNOT GET THIS HAUNTING SONG OR THE SERIES OUT OF MY HEAD! **


	17. A Narrow Escape

**THANKS TO MY SELFLESS BETA DANCING DOULA. HER EDITS AND INSIGHTS CAUSED ME TO COMPLETELY RECAST THE CONCLUDING SECTION SO THAT I FEEL SATISFIED WITH THE CHAPTER AND SHE PUSHED ME TO GET OUT OF MYDOLDRUMS AND FINALLY FINISH IT.**

Chapter 17: A Narrow Escape

Smee helped Emma manhandle Killian down the cabin steps and into bed. "Thank you, Smee," she said gratefully. "We need to leave – immediately. Is everything ready to go?"

Smee nodded, a worried look on his face. "We can cast off and leave immediately. He doesn't look too good – will he be alright?"

Casting a grim look at Killian, Emma nodded. "The knife slashed his arm and went through his shoulder. Nothing vital appears to be damaged but he's lost some blood."

"There's something else you should know," he told her. "As the Captain suspected, some men tried to sneak onto the _Jolly_ while most of the crew were in the taverns. We surprised them - but before we could grab them, they slipped away again. I think they were professional assassins."

She turned to him, then, horrified. "What did they look like?"

"One was tall – as tall as the Captain and thin. The other was small – smaller than me with a solid build. But they wore masks and I didn't get a look at their faces. Dressed all in black."

She nodded grimly. "Sounds like the ones who attacked us – similar dress, and it was only good luck I was awake to hear them creeping up on us. Are you sure they're gone – positive? Before we leave I want the ship thoroughly searched, including all the nooks and crannies only you're supposed to know about, do you understand?"

Smee nodded and she continued. "He felt warm to me in the boat – I'm concerned about fever, and I need to make sure the wound is clean. See if the cook has garlic and chamomile, and bring a jug of wine and some clean rags and fresh bandages. Oh, and also an unopened cask of rum."

"Is that for you or him?" Smee asked.

"Probably both! Now, go, and hurry!" Without another word he turned and hurried up the stairs.

After Smee left, she sat down next to Killian and took a good look, placing her hand gently on his forehead and smoothing the hair from his forehead. Still shaken from the shock of the midnight attack, now she found herself wracked with fear for him. She was no expert, but she thought he looked much, much worse than he should have. His face was so deathly pale his skin appeared waxy and he was burning with fever. On the boat he'd felt unusually warm, now he was burning up. She unbuttoned his shirt with anxious fingers and examined the dressings, noting that the heavy bleeding had stopped, the blood mostly clotted. They had cleaned the wounds thoroughly, stitched him neatly, and it seemed too soon for the wound to begin festering anyway. How could he have deteriorated so fast? Alarmed, she undressed the wound to inspect his shoulder, almost screaming when she saw what lay underneath.

She heard the footsteps of the crew all around her, searching for any remaining intruders, while she stood, paralyzed, not sure what she was seeing or what she should do. For while the wounds themselves appeared to be properly clean and well prepared to heal with time, there was an ominous looking black stain that had begun to spread across his skin from the site of the wounds, radiating out like a poisonous spider web.

Poison. The attacker's dagger must have been tipped with some kind of poison that was even now creeping through his body to kill him. She began shaking, her thoughts wild. What in the name of the gods should she do now? She knew nothing about poisons and their possible antidotes! Regina had never even covered the topic. Should she call Smee? Would he or the crew know anything? "Don't be daft, Emma," she told herself, "What can they do? Probably tell you to try to summon the Dark One. As if I would even know how to do that!"

Her mind raced, turning over her options. As she paced in agitation, Killian became restless and apparently delirious, hoarsely shouting incomprehensible things that made no sense to Emma, but apparently tormented him now.

Going to him, Emma tried as gently as possible to hold him still and calm him down. He subsided gradually as she pressed down on his chest with her hands, but still muttered quietly. Most of it was incomprehensible, but she thought she recognized a few coherent words, including "murder", "betrayal" and "treachery".

She didn't have time to contemplate the horrors he seemed to be reliving, too busy frantically trying to quiet his turmoil by stroking his chest and pressing her fingers lightly around his wound to make sure he hadn't ripped out the stitches. She probed gingerly at the hideous black stain, thinking it had spread slightly.

Suddenly her fingers, hands, and arms, all began to tingle as they hovered over him. Shocked, she stared down at her hands, which seemed to be emitting a dull white glow. It took her a second to realize what was happening – could this be her? Was this her magic? Concentrating to remember what Regina had told her about emotion and focus, she summoned every ounce of energy and passion in her body and visualized that energy passing from her hands into his body.

"You can do this," she told herself firmly, holding steady as she felt the ship lurch away from the dock. "Killian, Killian, please, please….come back to me." The glow became stronger, a steady bright white light, warm on his skin. Fascinated, she watched and willed until the black stains began, ever so slowly, to retreat back towards the wounds from whence they apparently had emerged. His face gradually began to show color again.

She could feel it draining her but she fought to maintain every ounce of power. After the black stain had disappeared, she held her position and watched, fascinated, as the wounds themselves began to heal before her eyes, resolving into livid scars and then fading to traces. She felt a huge, stunned smile spreading across her face, a mixture of shock, complete relief, and an intoxicating feeling of triumph at her accomplishment. Suddenly she felt herself weakening, her legs beginning to shake and her head becoming light. Losing her balance, she collapsed on top of him, laying her head on his now nearly healed chest and sobbing her heart out from sheer exhaustion.

As she lay there, she felt him stir and his warm, comforting arms came around her and held her as she cried. When she subsided into hiccups, she heard him whisper "What happened? I thought I had died and you were crying over my dead body!"

"I suppose that is somewhat true," she sighed and rose up slightly, feeling somewhat recovered. "Do you remember the attack? The assassin who stabbed you?"

He hesitated, "Aye, and you and Granny dressing the wound, but nothing much after that." His brow furrowed as if he were trying to remember.

"Probably a good thing." She smiled softly at him, brushing his cheek with her fingers. "Apparently the dagger tip was poisoned."

He groaned. "Of course it was! It has all the hallmarks of Livia though I can't be sure. I suppose she was getting rid of me to make sure there would be no trouble when she made her deal with Titus to return you. What a wicked old harpy she is! But how can I be alive if that's so? She's not known for half-measures."

She paused a moment, then answered simply, "I suppose I healed you? With magic," she added shyly.

"Bloody hell, Emma! You told me all you could do were hand tricks!" he exclaimed in wonder. He struggled to sit up, amazed, but she pushed him back down. She didn't think he should be making any sudden movements yet.

"Well, when you think about it, this _was_ a hand trick, just on a grander scale, and believe me, no one is more stunned than I am," she said, smiling and rubbing his chest, trying not to think how close she had been to losing him. She put her arms around him and hugged him gently.

She felt his arms wrap around her as he gently raised her so that he could gaze into her eyes. She lost herself in the fathomless blue of his eyes, tearing up again as she thought about how close he had been to never opening them again.

Seeing the tears welling in her lovely jade green eyes, he shushed her, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbones to wipe away the tears. "You are a magnificent woman," he said softly. "And I love you more than I can ever tell you in words." He pulled her towards him and kissed her, gently at first, then becoming more demanding and insistent, threading his fingers through her hair and tugging at her to hold her still. She kissed him back with equal ardor, her hands running over the strong muscles of his chest, the light matted hair.

Evidently recovering quickly, he pulled her on top of him and she felt him pressing against her, already hard. Breaking from their kiss, she murmured breathlessly, "well, you're obviously feeling better. But I think you need to rest now." She said this with as much sternness as she could muster, her words belied by her hips instinctively rolling against him.

With a deft motion, he flipped them both over so now he was on top. He grinned at her affectionately, then kissed the tip of her nose.

"I don't think so," he said smugly, pulling her closer.

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When they docked on the island of Ithaca several hours later, both Killian and Emma were sound asleep. Smee and Gates decided to let the Captain recover from his wounds while they supervised the unloading of the ship and sent the crew who lived on the island home to see their families until further notice. When they awoke later in the afternoon, Killian apparently none the worse for wear, Smee assisted them in leaving the ship, and Emma saw a horse saddled and waiting for them.

Killian helped Emma into the saddle, then climbed on behind her. Nudging the horse around, he held the reigns in one hand and wrapped the other snugly around her waist.

"Where are we going?" she asked. The island appeared intensely beautiful to her eyes, the sea turquoise in color, the sand on the nearby beach white, and the island itself gently mountainous and covered in dense green foliage.

"Look up there on the mountain overlooking the bay," he instructed, pointing upward. Following his direction, she could just make out a good sized house, white with a red tile roof, in the clearing at the top. "That's mine," he said. "It's called La Felicita – it means 'happiness'."

"And are you? Happy there?" she asked.

"I suppose as happy as I can be. It's more of an aspiration than a reality." He rubbed her belly absently.

She was quiet, contemplating his words. She also felt drowsy, the horse's gentle rocking motions and his warm body close behind her relaxing her totally. They picked their way up a well maintained, if winding trail up the mountain and through the exotic forest, the sounds of strange birds and insects providing a strange music of their own.

After about a half an hour or so, they arrived at their destination. Emma gawped in surprise. The house itself was both magnificent and inviting, built in a style similar to the buildings in Pontus, stucco with weathered red tiles on the roof, a covered veranda at the entrance with stunning, well trained bougainvilleas in brilliant reds and purples twining around the railings and upwards towards the roof.

"Killian, it's beautiful," she said, awed, standing back to admire it.

Smiling with an unaccustomed expression of reserved pride on his face, Killian led her up the stairs, then stopped as if seized by a sudden impulse. Turning to her, he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the veranda and into the house beyond. She squealed in delight, putting her arms around him, eager to look around. Putting her down, she took in a large, high-ceilinged room, comfortably and tastefully furnished, with polished dark wood floors. It felt cool inside compared with the heat of the sun outside. Taking her hand, he pulled her through the house to the back to reveal a very large open terrace overlooking a colorful garden, with a stunning view in every direction not only of Ithaca, but the many nearby islands and across the sea for miles.

It was all so surprising, shocking really. Remembering the fearsome, hardened pirate Captain who had captured her ship and terrorized its crew in all his theatrical menace, it was hard to connect that man with the cultured and sophisticated gentleman who lived in this house and read poetry to her in the evenings. He'd presented himself as a vagabond: a highwayman, an itinerant jewel thief, a seducer, and most of all, a wandering marauder whose only home was the sea.

But as she gazed out at the view, she suddenly realized she felt rather like she _was _ standing on the prow of a very tall ship. Then she thought she could understand. "It's spectacular," she said, fascinated. "Lovely beyond compare, and nothing like I've ever seen. It feels rather like being on the ship, but sailing through the sky."

He nodded in agreement, pleased she'd understood. "That's how I feel. After so many years on a ship, this is the only place I feel comfortable on dry land, though I don't really spend much time here. It's a refuge – a hideaway and base for the crew and their families - and a place for storage, mostly" he said ruefully, running his hand through his hair.

They wandered into the kitchen and found a bowl of fruit and several bottles of expensive-looking wine on the table. He opened one and offered her a glass.

"Very good of Mrs. Gates," he said, pleased. Apparently, the quartermaster's wife acted as his housekeeper.

After they had taken some refreshment, he showed her the other rooms. He himself occupied a rather magnificent suite, the bedchamber containing a huge four poster mahogany bed and large windows overlooking the sea and sky. There was an adjacent large dressing room, and beyond that, a relatively sumptuous room with stone walls, a large basin with a mirror hung over it, and a huge copper bathtub.

"Gods, I'd love a bath in that," she said.

"I'll ask Mrs. Gates to draw one when she arrives. I expect she'll be around shortly," he told her.

He took her hand again and led her to a small door at the rear. When she peered out, there was a small area entirely enclosed by a stone wall and open to the sky. There was some sort of spout or fountain-head that descended above the enclosure from the hill above. As she puzzled out its purpose, he turned to the wall and pulled a lever close by. Water began to cascade, nearly drenching her before he pulled her back.

"It's an alternative to the bathtub, connected to a cistern on top of the hill that collects rainwater," he explained. "It's rather like bathing in a fountain or the rain, I suppose."

"Oh my gods." she was speechless. "I've never in my life seen such a thing. What a luxury! Did you devise it yourself?"

"Actually, yes, but the principle is a simple one and particularly suitable for a hot climate. Would you care to try it? I'd be delighted to help you bathe," he pulled her into an embrace and leered at her suggestively.

She put her arms around him and laughed throatily. "I _might _be persuaded. What sort of 'help' were you thinking of?"

He pushed her back a little and spun her around so she was pressed flush against him. His hands roamed her body. "Well, I'd imagine you're quite travel stained from our adventures last night," he whispered next to ear, "I'd need to wash every inch of you very thoroughly." His hand crept into her shirt and he began to knead and fondle her breasts.

"Mmmmm," she said leaning back into him and losing herself in the pleasurable sensations. "And would you use a sponge, or your hands?"

"Oh, I think I would definitely need to use my hands." He began teasing her nipples with his fingers until she shivered a little with excitement, nestling against him even more closely.

She was breathing shallowly now as he slowly stoked the fire inside her. "And would you want me to return the favor?" she murmured, feeling him firm against her back.

"I might let you… if you ask me nicely." He was nibbling her ear and nipping her neck now. As he did, she felt his hand moving along her belly and reaching into her breeches, lower…and lower and…."

"CAPTAIN!" the stentorian voice shouted through the bedroom door. ""I'm here to draw the bath and prepare the supper."

"Bloody buggering hell!" he whispered savagely, abruptly removing his hand and sagging against her. Then, gathering himself, he cleared his throat and spoke normally again. "Yes Mrs. Gates, just a moment."

Hastily, Emma tucked in and buttoned her shirt and began smoothing her hair. Catching his eye, they both exploded into fits of suppressed giggles. "Oh gods," she spluttered, hanging onto his arm, "I feel as guilty as a 14-year-old caught necking with her boyfriend by her mom."

"Well darling, although I'm more than willing to cross swords with Mr. Gates should need arise I'd never dare cross his wife. She's quite the martinet." He laughed, adjusting his collar and running his fingers through his hair. "Ready?"

She nodded, and he whispered "I promise to make it up to you later" as they sallied forth to face the formidable Mrs. Gates.

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Mrs. Gates was a sturdily built matron in her early sixties, her dark hair well grayed. She had greeted Emma politely, with due ceremony. At the same time, she took in Emma from head to toe with shrewd and knowing eyes, frankly curious. The Captain had never brought a woman here before, much less a Princess. Well, this one was certainly beautiful, more beautiful than anyone she'd ever seen with that flowing golden hair and those slanting green eyes, but she'd have expected no less. The Captain was a handsome man, still young, and Mrs. Gates had long fretted to her husband about his apparently self imposed loneliness. Mr. Gates had suggested that beyond the island, Killian had plenty of women to satisfy his needs, that the wenches threw themselves at him, but she merely pressed her lips together. "You know as well as I do that's not enough."

"Aye," he'd said, taking her hand in his, "I do." They'd been married many years and had children and grandchildren.

She'd drawn separate baths for the Captain and his lady, and they complied meekly, first one, then the other returning in fresh and appropriate dinner clothes. They hadn't fooled her one bit, flushed and peering at her like naughty schoolchildren as they stood in the bedroom door to greet her. She surreptitiously watched them together as she roasted meat and chopped vegetables. They'd chatted with her in the kitchen for a time then drifted off to the terrace to wait for dinner.

As her husband had warned her, the Captain made no effort to conceal the fact that he was head over heels in love with her. His eyes smoldered as he followed her with his hungry eyes, unable to tear his gaze from her. She seemed as smitten with him, her jade green eyes alight with her obvious desire for him. They could barely keep their eyes off each other. Although they clearly tried to maintain the proprieties out of respect for her presence, she noticed that they constantly found reasons to brush against each other or leave a touch that lingered a trifle too long. The room was so charged with the electricity between them she found it hard to relax into her tasks, and was relieved when they excused themselves to watch the stars through the telescope on terrace.

Mrs. Gates continued to watch as Emma stood with her eye to the scope, the Captain close against her, holding her from behind while he pointed out the constellations just beginning to appear in the sky. She shook her head. Although she was glad to see the Captain happy for a change, she knew from her husband that he would lose her within days, probably no longer than a week. Under her flinty façade, Mrs. Gates had a tender heart, and right now she was worried for him. The Captain was a tough, resilient man, accustomed to being alone, but she had a feeling she'd be scraping him off the floor in the not too distant future. He was cursed with a romantic soul and she suspected Emma could break him in a way none of his many adversaries in life ever could have.

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Later, Mrs. Gates announced that dinner was waiting in the kitchen whenever they were ready, then excused herself to leave. She'd be back the next morning to clear up.

They thanked her, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be alone once more. "Gods," Emma exhaled, "I hope I passed! Is my dress all right? She had changed into a lightweight white muslin gown with a pattern of green sprigs trimmed with emerald velvet ribbon.

"You would look breathtaking in a sack, my sweetheart. You know, we don't actually need to wear anything at all in a place like this," he said with a smirk, "but Mrs. Gates observes the proprieties and I don't want to shock her too much."

"I doubt anything you do would shock her," Emma scoffed at him.

He gave her a wicked grin and smacked her lightly on the rear. "Come on," he said, pulling her towards the kitchen. "I'm starving."

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING, PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! YOUR SUGGESTIONS AND COMMENTS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.**


	18. Fight Test

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO HOLDINGOUTFORAPIRATEHERO WHOSE FANTASTIC AND IMAGINATIVE WRITING ENCOURAGED AND INSPIRED ME TO GET A LITTLE CRAZY WITH THIS CHAPTER. THANKS ESPECIALLY TO HER FOR RECOMMENDING ME ON HER ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL READING BLOG!**

**APPRECIATION AND AWE ALSO TO THE INSPIRING FICTION OF WORDSMITH-WEAVER (JJ SAWYERPHILIP) AND TAARNAT. LADIES, I AM NOT WORTHY. YOU ARE THE BRONTE SISTERS OF CS FANFIC.**

**WARNING: CONTAINS EROTIC SWORDPLAY, A VERY VIOLENT QUARREL BETWEEN KILLIAN & EMMA, AND ROUGH HATE SEX.**

**YOU ARE WARNED. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART.**

**THANKS TO MY AMAZING BETA DANCINGDOULA**

Chapter 18: Fight Test

"Attack!" Killian shouted at her, raising his sword at her in challenge. She was wearing one of his shirts over a pair of breeches, both a little large on her, and he couldn't suppress a smile at the thought of how she looked so at home, here with him.

Emma lunged forward, lowering her sword as she slashed at his upper thigh. Her shirt pulled away from her chest with the motion, offering him a delicious view of her full bosom. Not completely distracted, he danced away and came back at her from the right, catching her on her arm as she recovered herself and jumped back.

"Defend!" he ordered as he lunged again, this time toward her belly, hoping to get a view of some other delightful part of her anatomy. She grimaced prettily as she continued to fall back.

"Defend!" he shouted, pressing his advantage, wishing he was pressing more than just that. She ducked, moved to his left, and lunged, catching him in the side. "Better!" he said approvingly. "Stop turning your foot when you attack." She was concentrating fiercely and looked a mess, hair falling forward in her face, beads of sweat across her forehead. She was an erotic goddess, with no idea of her effect on him.

They'd been practicing for nearly an hour or more and he could tell she was tiring. The next time she attacked, he simply moved aside, seized her around the waist and threw her to the ground, following within a split second. He wiped the surprise off her face with a hungry kiss, pinning her down with his weight and grinding his arousal into the softness of her belly.

This was the problem of swordplay for Killian and Emma. They'd been enjoying themselves in the idyllic bubble of the island paradise for nearly a week, and it had been like a dream. They had bathed in the sea naked every day and ridden horses on the beach, galloping madly across the sand, racing one another. He'd shown her his magnificent and unusual collection of books, art and other treasures he'd collected over the centuries and kept safely stowed in his house. But both particularly enjoyed the hours they spent – or didn't spend – fencing.

He had been curious to see her sword fighting capabilities for himself after her impressive performance with the dagger thrown into the back of his would-be assassin. Trained by her father and his knights, she was excellent, especially for a woman. Unlike Killian, she lacked centuries of experience fighting real battles where life hung in the balance with every cut and thrust. She had also lacked the cutthroat tactics that could mean the difference between death and survival in close fighting, which he had gladly taught her. Sometimes she caught him off guard and nearly bested him, but that was usually because he became so distracted by the sight of her lithe body twisting and turning under his attacks, delectable breasts heaving against her thin shirt, that he would become aroused and lose his focus.

She found him equally distracting. Already at a disadvantage with him, she would lose her concentration as she felt the waves of heat rolling off his body, inhaling his masculine smell, heightened by the vigorous exercise. One moment she'd be thinking about her stance and the next she'd find her eyes moving to his handsome face, intense with concentration, sweat beading occasionally on his brow. She'd catch his mesmerizing blue eyes boring into her, and for a moment she'd forget herself, feeling like prey in the sight of her predator. As their match progressed, inevitably she'd see through his thin trousers that he was hard. That was the moment she knew she could press her advantage and best him – even while grinning at him wickedly. But usually she was so fired by desire that all she wanted to do was throw down the sword and jump on him.

And so the problem with practicing sword-fighting with Killian was that inevitably their practice sessions, so earnestly begun, ended prematurely with the two of them rolling around on the ground together, swords forgotten, his cock buried deep inside her.

After a few rounds of this, swordplay had become foreplay, eagerly anticipated and enjoyed by both of them with equal fervor, and the new object of the game became not who had the first cut but who gave into temptation first.

Emma could best him like that nearly every time, sometimes using trickery. On one occasion, he disarmed her, twisted her arm behind her, and drew her against him, her back pressed to his chest, his sword at her throat. Emma reacted instantly, lifting her backside and grinding it against his groin, causing his grip on his sword to weaken. Emma had bitten him, twisted his sword from his hand, and whirled to point it at the base of his throat.

"Ow!" he yelled, "What a vixen you are!" He glared at her, but a smile began tugging at the corners of his mouth.

They stood there, panting while they regarded each other, and he waited to see her next move. Emma threw down the sword and took off through the forest, laughing joyously at her victory. He was hot on her heels as they both ran at top speed among the trees, but he eventually caught up to her and knocked her sprawling on her belly. Before she could catch her breath, he'd torn off her breeches, pulled her to her knees by the hair, and taken her roughly from behind. "Bloody hell, Emma!" he growled as he thrust into her so deeply and powerfully she yelped in surprise, "I've never had to work so hard for a fuck in my entire life."

After taking his pleasure from her, they walked home, but his desire was still unslaked, so he suddenly seized her, threw her against a large tree, and had her again.

Their mutual cries of release resonated through the quiet forest so loudly Mrs. Gates could hear them as she beat rugs in the garden. Pressing her lips together disapprovingly, she shook her head at their incontinence. The Captain was at his lass night and day, but she seemed to like it as much as he did. And she a royal Princess!

There had been only one time Emma had been consistently unable to resist her evident desire for Killian during sword practice. He'd been down to his ship that morning to supervise some long overdue repairs and maintenance. When he had returned, Emma had been waiting for him impatiently, dressed only in a shift, her face flushed. She flew into his arms, tilting her head up for a passionate kiss, lifting a leg around his waist in an effort to get closer. She took his hand and placed it firmly between her thighs. "Touch me," she breathed.

When he did, he was surprised to discover that not only was she already wet, she seemed wetter and more engorged than he had ever experienced with her previously. Large beads of moisture were literally dripping down her legs. He calculated he had been in the house for at most two minutes – was he that good? Experimentally, he thrust two fingers inside her and curled them, stroking her. To his shock, she began to climax immediately, her walls contracting around his fingers as she cried out and panted against his chest. What was all this? Her body had been sensitive and extraordinarily responsive to his touch since their first encounter, but this was something new. She held onto him, her heartbeat still wild, her breathing slowing only a little as she slowly relaxed.

"Umm, what's going on? Regina give you an aphrodisiac along with her other valuable contributions?" he asked teasingly.

She had laughed at that, shaking her head. "No, I've been thinking about you all morning and I was just – impatient. And sometimes - I get like _this_ but of course I'm alone so…."

Interesting. He gently rearranged her hair behind her shoulder, then pulled down the top of her shift. He ran his hand from her slender neck to her shoulder and then palmed her breast, squeezing it and toying with her nipple. Her skin felt unusually warm under his touch – was she feverish?

Suddenly she squeaked a little and pulled away.

"What's wrong?" he said, mystified.

"They just feel…unusually sensitive," she explained, unlacing his breeches and yanking them down. When she had his pants off, she forcefully pushed him down on one of the chaise lounges, straddled him, and then proceeded to ride him until they were both screaming.

For the remainder of the day, sword practice had barely commenced before she threw down her sword and demanded that he fuck her, in those words. Killian didn't know what to think. She was incredibly erotic and exciting this way, enflaming him over and over, but he was unused to being a passive lover. She was also uninterested in any form of love other than having his cock buried deep inside her. But her warm center felt like fresh earth, rich and fertile, so he obliged her by plowing her relentlessly fore and aft until he himself was finally exhausted and they both slept soundly.

Their happy idyll came to an end with the arrival of a red-faced, out of breath visit from Isaac with some dreaded news.

"Captain! They're coming!" He had burst onto the terrace where they were having dinner, apparently having run all the way from the small village near the dock.

"Who's coming, Isaac?" the Captain asked in a low voice.

"Word came from Pontus. Lady Livia's sending a ship to take milady," he nodded at Emma, "Likely it will be here as soon as the day after tomorrow! Mr. Gates said to tell you."

The Captain thanked him gravely, then went into the house with Isaac to give him a few coins for his diligence in alerting him so quickly.

Later that evening, a violent quarrel erupted.

When he had returned to the terrace, he had sighed heavily as he sat down. He took both her hands in his and gazed at her contemplatively. He'd then proceeded to outline his plans for them calmly.

"We can't remain here. We can defend the island for a time, but we'd be no match for a larger force Livia might send, and it's likely Titus also would feel obliged to lay siege. The only option is to take the ship and sail far away, to someplace he can never follow."

"Are you mad?" she asked him with asperity. "There's no place in all the realms where his reach does not extend. We'd be on the run for the rest of our lives! And what if Titus took vengeance on your crew and their people? Did you ever consider that possibility?"

She glared at him, her voice rising, her hands gripping his tighter.

Taken aback by her heated reaction, he bit back the sharp retort on his tongue, took a deep breath to regain control of his temper, and leaned toward her urgently. A muscle in his cheek twitched slightly, but his voice, when he spoke, was outwardly calm. He _had_ to make her understand.

"There is a way – I still have magic beans. We can use a bean and sail to another world – perhaps the world without magic. We'd be safe there," he said, his tone reassuring, fully expecting her to rejoice in his ingenious escape plan.

"Very clever – genius, really," she retorted sarcastically, yanking her hands away. "You have failed, however, to even ask me what _I _want to do – what I need to do! I've told you from the beginning that like it or not, I've got to go through with this marriage. You've simply decided – for both of us, without any discussion, what you want to do with me to achieve your own objectives, and hang the consequences for anyone else!" Now she was shouting at him.

Stung, he rose abruptly and began pacing, rubbing his neck before he wheeled around to confront her again. "And this –" he gestured toward Emma and back to himself, "isn't what you want too? Did I miss something? After everything we've been through? Everything we've had between us?" His voice broke and he looked away.

She was on her feet now, standing in front of him and placing her hands on his chest in a conciliatory manner. "Of course this is not what I want! _You_ are what I want – all I want…" her voice had softened, and he stole a hopeful glance at her.

She shut it down immediately. "It's not about you and me, is it? It's about other people – mine, yours, war and peace! Starvation and death, or peace and plenty. You're being a naïve fool…" She bit her lip, then, she hadn't meant to go that far.

Now he was really angry. "Oh, _I'm_ a naïve fool, am I? You think your marriage will magically change a power hungry madman like Titus? At best you'll be a hostage. Once you're in his custody, he'll have more leverage over your kingdom than ever! He might leave them alone for a time while he subdues other luckless lands, but he'll be back, stronger and more ruthless than ever! You'll be lucky to make it out alive. You're the naïve fool here," he sneered.

She had stepped back involuntarily under the lash of his words. "Do you think my parents and I don't know that? They were against this for the same reasons! But here's the rub – breaking the marriage alliance means _immediate _war and we're already nearly flat on our back! Titus may go back on his word – probably will go back on his word – but it will buy us the time we need to prepare. He's already preparing to invade the Sakkaran Empire to his East. He'll be bogged down there for years, thinking his enemies in the west are already on their knees."

He scowled furiously at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching with barely controlled fury.

"Oh, and you're so sure everything will go exactly according to plan, are you? Well I'll tell you something. You can't predict anything with a political marriage – and believe me, I know that better than anyone else!"

He seized her by the shoulders, his grip so tight she could feel bruises rising, and fixed his eyes on her. They looked black with rage and the gathering darkness around them. "I told you I lost my family, but not how! They were betrayed and massacred _at a wedding feast!_" Seeing her shocked look, he nodded savagely and tightened his grip. "Yes that's right – a feast celebrating a political marriage naively believed to be the key to solving our problems, just like this one!" He let her go and sagged onto the couch, his hand shading his eyes and shuddering at the memory.

"_All_ of them?" she whispered, stunned by the revelation. She sat down beside him on the couch and put her arms around him, wondering how someone who had endured so traumatic and devastating a loss could ever be consoled.

He didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and turned to look up at her with a tortured gaze. "After the massacre, my parents and elder brother were dead, and the brothers and sisters that remained weren't present – but they were scattered and lost to me forever. Now do you understand why I can't let you do this?"

"Killian, I'm so so sorry – more than I could ever say and I know it doesn't help a bit. I admit I'm frightened, but I've got to at least try to do what I can!" She placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him to face her, willing him to understand her.

"You realize," he told her, pulling her into his arms and holding her in a very firm and threatening embrace, "I don't actually need your permission. I can throw a magic bean right now and pull you through the portal with me and you'll have nothing to say about it."

"But you won't," she said softly, "you're a good man despite yourself, and you wouldn't force me."

He released her, slumping back into the couch and covering his eyes again. "Aye, I won't force you, but _not_ because I'm a good man."

He got up then, walked over to a table, poured a healthy slug of rum in a glass and knocked it back.

"I'm a bad man, Emma," he said at last, "The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door." He poured another hefty shot of rum and downed it. Then another.

His stubbornness and self-loathing were upsetting her. "You're drinking too much! How is this helping?" her voice sounded more shrill and accusatory than she intended, and she realized she was wringing her hands with nervous tension.

He rounded on her, furious. "Don't you _dare _tell me what I can and cannot do, _Princess._

You've made your choice clear and you have chosen a pointless, and probably fatal marriage with the son of a man who is every bit as monstrous as anyone in my own world – and that is saying something. Your vain and quixotic ideas of noble self sacrifice clearly mean more to you than I ever could!" He was breathing hard now, trying to control himself, his face clenched in fury and his eyes darkening with rage. She shivered a little, her heart pounding.

With that, he wheeled around and strode angrily away, rum bottle in hand, shouting "I'm done talking with you! I'm going to bed."

She stood there paralyzed for a moment, quivering with frustration and hurt. Then she ran after him just as he slammed the bedroom door in her face. She flung it open, her fury rising with every motion. At some level, she knew he was hurting—for good reason- and lashing out at her, but she was too angry to stop herself.

"Killian Jones, don't _you _dare turn your back and walk away from me! You know as well as I do that if this was just a matter of my own heart, my own desires, I would never consider this!" She was screaming now.

He picked up a glass from the table and threw it as hard as he could against the wall, shattering it in a million pieces. "Why shouldn't I walk away from you? After all, _you're_ walking away from me!" He was shouting just as loud, practically in her face now. "Damn you to hell, Emma, I wonder if you ever cared for me at all!"

"You stubborn fool, I've saved your miserable life at least three times! You know as well as I do what we have together, what you mean to me…" She stormed back at him, finger poking into his chest, then broke off with a little sob.

"Oh really? I thought maybe I was just a good fuck," he said mockingly. He was actively trying to hurt her now. He suddenly pressed against her firmly enough for her to feel his erection. Evidently all this passion cut two ways.

"You…you _bastard!_" she raged at him. In a blind fury, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him as hard as she could. Caught off guard and slightly drunk, he staggered back and, as he did so, she pulled back her hand and slapped him in the face as hard as she could.

He reacted instinctively, popping her in the face with the back of his hand. Stunned for a moment, she tasted blood in her mouth and flew at him, raking her nails over his face. He seized her wrists painfully and held her as she struggled, his eyes blazing ferociously, even angrier as she realized that her belly had begun to tighten and her loins to burn with desire for him.

She fought it. "Let me go! Your pride is hurt and you're too much of a coward to admit it!" she shrieked. Surprisingly, he dropped her hands, whereupon she stepped back quickly and punched him in the face with all her remaining strength.

"You BITCH," he roared, blood running from his lip. At this, he lost the last remnants of his self-control. Infuriated, he picked her up and threw her forcefully facedown on the bed. Scrambling to get up, he was too fast for her, and she felt his knee in her back, pinning her down. "You strike me and accuse me of cowardice, of walking away. You're the one turning her back so you can go and be with your precious prince!" he shouted, incandescent with anger.

"I hate you!" she spat out as she continued to struggle against him ineffectually.

_Enough!" _he roared back at her. To her horror, she felt him raise her skirt and slap her hard across her buttocks.

Pulling his hand back, he admired the distinct print he'd left on her creamy, rounded skin, then smacked her again and again with equal force. She screamed in pain and shock, cursing him hoarsely. He paid no attention, his anger mutating into pure, savage lust as he watched her beautiful body writhing under his blows.

"I'll stop if you promise to be a good girl and stop acting like a vicious shrew," he said in what she thought of as his silky sex voice.

"Go to hell," she snarled, feeling the moisture pooling between her legs.

Abruptly he stopped, and she heard him unlacing himself, still holding her place. He moved his knee to force her thighs apart, then seized her by the hips and thrust into her so forcefully she screamed again. "You wanted me for a good fuck, Princess?" he said throatily into her ear, his voice silk and velvet. "Well, I'm going to give you one."

"Bastard!" she hissed, but she relaxed around him and began to move with him despite her lingering anger and indignation. "I hate you!" she said again, not very sincerely. He laughed softly, "Good. I hate you too."

He let go of her hips only long enough to rip open the bodice of her thin gown. Laying over her, he reached round and began roughly squeezing her breasts, twisting and pinching her nipples until she cried out in pain again. "Rough enough for you, Princess?" he hissed in one ear, "I could get rougher, if you like, but you're already drenched and your cunt is tight as the first night I took you." He bit down on the sensitive part of her neck, sucking on the flesh hard, marking her with his teeth.

Furious, she pulled up her arm to try to elbow him in the face even as she felt herself clenching around him. He avoided the blow just in time, raising himself and picking up his punishing pace well out of her reach. She cursed him loudly, but he was relentless. "It would be easier if you would just submit to my demands, Princess," he commanded imperiously, delivering several more well-timed smacks to her already tender flanks.

By this point she was so angry and aroused she couldn't think of a rejoinder, her eyes rolling back into her head, her lips gasping for breath. Her entire body was on fire and she began to shake and tremble all over. Her buttocks tingled from his blows and the perverse combination of pain and the pleasure he was giving her with his powerful thrusts caused her to shatter as readily as the glass against the wall he had thrown earlier. She dimly heard him ordering her to "_come for me, now!"_ and then she was screaming and sobbing simultaneously as the most powerful orgasm she had yet experienced ripped through her like a hurricane. Her arms buckled and she fell on her face into the bed, limp and boneless.

Part of him already hated himself for hurting her, but he had never been more aroused in his life. His throbbing cock was like a vengeful, angry god that could only be propitiated by his total domination and possession of her, body and soul. Feeling close himself, he pulled out and flipped her onto her back. He stilled her startled protests with a brutal kiss as he penetrated her deeply again, hitting her sensitive core so directly she began to ascend again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back into him. She raked his back with her nails hard enough to score his flesh and he moaned into her mouth. They could each taste the other's blood, and Emma sucked on the spot where she'd split his lip. She cried out suddenly as she peaked again and then felt him jerk powerfully inside her as he poured his release into her, groaning and cursing.

Spent and drained, he collapsed heavily onto her, panting with exhaustion. She lay there in a stupor, stunned senseless, unable even to form the words to complain about his weight on her or his outrageous behavior. Instead she just lay there, her arms still twined around him, her legs around his waist, her mind mercifully vacant.

The storm had momentarily passed.

**I really hope you leave a review and please feel free to PM me with comments and suggestions. Thanks so much for reading!**


	19. The Story of Majnun and Layla

**WARNING: LOTS OF SMUT AND A WHOLE HEAP O'ANGST AND SUFFERING AHEAD. STEADY ON.**

**HERE AT LAST YOU WILL LEARN THE MEANING BEHIND THE TITLE OF THIS FIC "TIED WITH A SILVER CHAIN"**

Chapter 19: The Story of Majnun and Layla

_Like a fool, I fell in love with you,_

_You turned my whole world upside down._

_Layla, you've got me on my knees,_

_Layla, I'm begging darlin' please._

It seemed like hours before either of them could move. Finally, Killian lurched, groaning over onto his back next to her, both of them still breathing hard, sweat beading their faces. Reaching toward her, he captured her hand in his and gave it a gentle, tentative squeeze. Emma hesitated for a moment then gave him a tiny one in return. Neither spoke as they recovered slowly from the madness that had seized them.

"Well," he said at last, exhaling with a gusty sigh, "I don't know about you, but that was fucking amazing."

She turned to look at him, considering whether she should kiss him or punch him. But he gave her such a doleful, penitent grin that she burst out laughing instead. "I don't know if it was really 'fucking amazing' or just an amazing fuck," she punned.

"Ouch, now that last one _really _hurt!" he rejoined, laughing. Looking relieved, he pulled her against his chest and began smoothing the tangles from her hair. She drew lazy circles on the muscles of his chest, enjoying the masculine waves of heat and the sexy spicy smells that rolled off his body, still glowing with sweat. They lay peacefully together, not talking further, until sleep overtook them.

When he woke the next morning, he was curled around her while she lay on her side, still sleeping. Memories of the previous evening flooded in on the peace of the morning, and he felt overwhelmed with guilt and shame over his out-of-control behavior. It was more than just bad form, it was utterly unforgivable and he couldn't blame her if she really did hate him forever. He had been out of his mind with grief, rage and, he admitted now, wounded pride. Even worse, he had been mightily aroused, insane with lust. He had both ravished his lover and experienced the most mind blowing orgasm of his life. He'd felt like he had actually floated out of his body when it hit him, and was floating over the bed, watching the two of them joined and fired with passion. Judging by Emma's cries of pleasure and the violent, repeated convulsions that had squeezed him dry, she had enjoyed it just as much. Despite his self-castigation, he couldn't help but gloat to himself about that, just a little. Even weirder, he had felt for a few surreal moments that he had been inside Emma's mind and perceptions as well, seeing his own face contorted with passion, feeling Emma's muscles clenching around his agonizingly hard cock. _And then he had felt her enter into his head as well. __Had__n't he?_

Now, though, he anxiously began an inspection of her body to survey the extent of the damage. He winced at the sight of the finger-shaped bruises on her upper arms and hips. The dark marks on her neck, while prominent, were at least not out of the ordinary for them, and he knew he was sporting a few of his own. Her lips looked a little swollen but they weren't cut. He could feel his own lip swollen and stinging from where she'd punched him.

As he touched her gently, she smiled with pleasure and gave a little sigh, turning toward him. He was relieved to see that she didn't have a visible bruise where he had popped her on the cheek, but the sight of her angelic, innocent and beautiful face filled him with fresh remorse.

She opened her eyes and looked at him intently, immediately reading his thoughts on his face. Reaching up to gently trace the ugly scratch marks on his face, now scabbed over, she then touched the cut on his lip with a light finger.

"I think you _look_ worse than I do," she told him at last. "But I may need help getting up." She was sore in places and stiff everywhere else.

What she didn't tell him is that she'd gladly suffer far worse to experience the magic she had felt at the moment of their final climax. It was as if their violent quarrel had torn away the last barriers between them. As she peaked, she felt herself expanding, entirely enveloping and inhabiting him. She could see through his eyes her own face suffused with ecstasy and feel his wild primal energy as he released himself into her. His passion for her rolled over her with the force of a cosmic hammer and engulfed her with the hot flames of his desire. Never had she imagined that a man could desire her with such an all-consuming, burning need. She knew that what she had experienced had been more than merely human – that she had had the vantage point of her strange ungovernable magic. And then a second later, she realized something else. For an instant, she had felt him inside her mind as well, seeing through her eyes, feeling through her fingers. _It was as if he had magic inside him as well, but was it possible? And what kind of magic, from a world she'd never heard of, what kind of strange magic could that __be?_

Aloud, she said merely "To _know_ is to understand," fixing him in her luminous green gaze with a fierce stare that pierced his very soul. _So, he thought, she knows now. He could hear her thoughts… ._

_Stop it, Killian, he told himself. Stop it right now. _Shaking himself, he started and sighed, nuzzling her neck. Stroking her hair, he told her in a normal voice, "All poets know that love is madness, and mine appears to be of a particularly lethal sort. Most likely once you leave I'll become like Majnun,"

She relaxed under his gentle touch. "Who's Majnun?"

"There's an ancient story about a man called Majnun who falls hopelessly in love with a beautiful woman named Layla. Her father refuses him permission to wed her, takes Layla away, and marries her to another man. Majnun becomes a madman, wandering in the wilderness and chanting poems to his lost love before anyone who will listen. The name 'Majnun' actually means 'madman'," he said in a reflective voice.

"And Layla? What of her?" Emma asked, turning her head and looking him straight in the eye. She lay peacefully on her back, he on his side, one hand propping up his head.

"Ah, that's very interesting. She holds her love for him secretly, and writes answers to his poems that she casts to the wind in hopes they will eventually find their way to him. And though married to another, she refuses conjugal relations with her husband and stays chaste for Majnun."*

She smiled at him then. "I'm sure that's what you want as well."

"Do you blame me?" he said, his face turning serious. He reached toward her and brushed her cheek with this thumb.

"You seem resigned to it this morning," she observed, running her hand through his scruff, enjoying the way it scratched her.

"What choice have I?" he shrugged at her, his face sad. "Besides, I remembered something Richard told me and I realized I had to let you go, even if only to prove to you how much I really do love you."

"What did he tell you," she queried, perplexed by his _volte-face_ since last night.

"The great love of Richard's life was a noblewoman he met fighting for his country in a distant land. She was the leader of the local _partisans_ who hid in the countryside and ambushed the enemy.** She also used her charm and beauty to seduce secrets from the invading army's officers. Sometimes she assassinated them as well. They called her 'The Needle' ."

"Does this have a happy ending?" she asked apprehensively.

"Of course not! This is real life. She was murdered by Sharpe's sworn enemy and died in his arms! But she was able to speak to him before she died. She told him the reason she loved him so much was that he had never tried to stop her from doing what she needed to do," he said in a somber voice. In his infinite ocean eyes, she saw love – and understanding.

They lay there together quietly for some time, he holding her, she with her arm across his chest. When they rose at last, they went down a path from La Felicita to the small private beach on the other side of the headland. They bathed in the sea, letting the salt water gently sting their wounds and wash clean the sins and sorrows of the previous evening. Then they lay on sheets in the sand, eating fruit and cheese that Emma had brought along from the kitchen and feeling the warmth on their backs of the sunshine on a cloudless day. For a time, they forgot entirely the calamity that was about to descend upon them.

Returning to the house in the afternoon, they spent the rest of the day in bed together. Killian alternated between talking, reading to her, and making the tenderest of love to her, so gentle and fearful of hurting her again that at times she had to order him to pick up the pace, nipping playfully at his shoulder. Eventually she gave up, pushed him on his back and set the pace herself, enjoying the position not only for the control it gave her but the ability to gaze steadfastly upon his handsome, if slightly damaged face. She decided that overall the wounds she had inflicted did not detract but merely added to the handsome dangerousness of his dark countenance.

They took turns mapping one another, committing to memory every line of bone and muscle, every scar, every inch of skin and hair. She traced over him from head to toe with her fingers, her lips and tongue, attending to each individual component in order to sear it into her memory to sustain her during the long lonely nights to come. She took her time especially with his magnificent cock. It sprang to attention under her hands and hardened as she licked long stripes from hilt to tip and swirled her tongue delicately over the rounded head. "It's like a little god!" she said wonderingly, licking the salty sweet beads of moisture from the tip, "I want to worship it, bring it burnt offerings, swallow it whole…" she trailed off as she saw his eyes roll back into his head in response, a strangled groan in his throat.

She began to take him slowly into her mouth, tracing every vein and ridge with her delicate tongue before drawing him slowly into the back of her throat, sucking hard and moaning around his length. His breathing labored, he grasped her by the hair and began thrusting hard into her mouth. "Oh gods, Emma, you don't know how insane it makes me when you suck my cock…to know that you love sucking me off…it's nearly impossible to control myself…." He jerked slightly in her mouth and she stilled instantly, pulling her lips away and pressing firmly down on his hips to calm him.

"Stay still," she commanded, returning to her efforts. Very slowly, she drew him in, inch by hard, delicious inch until, reaching the back of her throat, she relaxed her tongue and began to swallow around him. A jolt of lust shot through his body like a bolt of lightning as he felt himself slipping more deeply into the tight, wet constriction of her beautiful, white throat. His eyes widened in shock. "Don't stop, please don't stop," he pleaded hoarsely. As she hummed and swallowed around him, the nearly torturous compression around the head of his cock caused him to come down her throat in hot spurts with the force of a monstrous explosion.

After she cleaned him off with loving strokes of her tongue, she lay her head down on his chest. She was satisfied to feel his heart beating madly, his breath still coming in ragged gasps as he slowly recovered. She felt a dagger sharp pain in her heart when she thought of never seeing or tasting his gorgeous cock again.

A little later, after he had recovered, he picked up her hairbrush and asked her to sit upright between his legs. She complied, and he began to brush out her long golden locks from root to ends with slow, gentle strokes, careful not to pull when he found a snarl or tangle, instead patiently teasing the knot until her hair came free. After her hair fell in smooth waves about her shoulders, she felt him pulling it back toward the nape of her neck then holding it aloft as he caught the hair beneath his hand and began to brush carefully along the underside of her hair as well. By the time he finished, her hair felt like satin and her body felt heavy, relaxed, nearly purring like a cat that has been rubbed in her favorite spot. Setting down the silver brush, he gathered her hair into both his hands and buried his face in it, inhaling the delicate fragrance and rubbing the rough stubble of his cheek against the silky, bright tresses.

"I could lose myself in the scent of your beautiful hair," he breathed into the curve where her neck joined her shoulder. He blew on her neck and she shivered in response, her hands falling to grip his thighs. Laying her on her belly, he began to kiss down her neck and trace down her shoulders, her arms, down to each fingertip with light touches of his own. He licked slowly up and down her spine and she shivered beneath him, her core tingling with need and anticipation. She felt his hands squeezing and cupping her rounded flanks and then reaching between her legs to caress her teasingly before moving down her thighs.

When he had delved and explored every mound and hollow, he turned her over and repeated the entire painstaking examination as she lay on her back, alternatively shivering with delight, gasping with pleasure, or laughing when he tickled her with his hot breath, dancing fingers and gently probing tongue. When he had committed every space to his memory, he settled between her legs. "Spread your legs wide," he whispered.

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As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Killian propped himself on his elbow and looked into her gold flecked eyes as he lightly caressed her breasts and belly. "I'm not giving up, you know. I don't believe this is the end," he said seriously. "I will come for you when the time comes. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes. I depend upon it."

He nodded in return, satisfied. Then he rose from the bed, went over to the chest, and began to rummage around at the bottom. Pulling out a box, he returned to the bed, sat down, and opened it up. He removed its contents with a flourish, and presented her with what looked like a particularly exquisite silver bracelet.

Taking it from him, she held it up to the remaining light shining through the tall windows. "What is this?" she asked wonderingly.

"It's made of a rare substance called mithril, mined many ages ago by the dwarves of a faraway realm. It resembles the finest silver but is stronger than steel, and lighter than both," he explained. "I acquired it from the Dark One – it was in payment for that emerald I stole from your suitor. It's said to have magical qualities even he didn't totally comprehend."

"I've never seen anything like it," she admired, marveling at its lightness and the way the silvery links caught the light.

Taking it from her, he fastened it around her slim left ankle. It fit perfectly, and felt so light she could barely detect it lying against her skin. He smiled then, pleased, touching the bracelet to ensure it was properly secured and then running his hand sensually along her calf.

"There," he said. "Wherever you go, whatever dangers or challenges you may face, my love will be an anchor tied to you – tied with a silver chain."

"Oh Killian, I don't'…I can't….." she began to choke with sobs then, tears brimming in her lovely green eyes and sliding slowly down her cheek. Taking her in his arms, he made soothing sounds at her and urged her not to give in to weeping.

"Don't fret so much, love, we'll find a way, eventually. Besides, we can't really be separated, can we? 'Lovers don't finally meet somewhere, they're in each other all along', I believe the poet Rumi said." She had subsided into hiccups at this point.

He found a handkerchief and solicitously dried her tears. "Supposedly the bracelet's enchantment allows lovers to feel one another, somehow. The Dark One did tell me it couldn't be broken and it can't be opened by anyone other than me, but if I should perish you'll know because it will open itself and fall off. I hope somehow I too should know if…." he broke off, unwilling even to consider worse possibilities.

When the lovers finally fell into an exhausted sleep much, much later, each was tightly entwined the other.

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"They've come! They're here!" Emma thought she heard shouting outside. She saw Killian outside, already dressed, bending over to give some instructions to Isaac. Mr. and Mrs. Gates stood nearby, clearly apprehensive.

Pulling on a robe, she ran though the house to the door. She met Killian bounding up the stairs, his face blanched.

Gripping her arms, he told her in a carefully controlled voice, "They're here for you. Get dressed." He didn't seem to be breathing.

Distraught, Emma tried to hold herself together, mechanically dressing herself, gathering her possessions into the trunk that had been brought to their house on their arrival.

Killian threw himself into the minutiae of organization, speaking with Mr. Gates and Isaac, saddling the horse. As he did so, a liveried soldier emerged from the forest and waited to speak to him, followed by several more with a handcart.

He nodded at the man, who gave him a slight bow of the head in acknowledgement.

"I've been sent by Captain Flint of the _Andromeda. _I'm to escort Her Royal Highness to the ship that will take her to Vargos," he announced.

"Mrs. Gates, please go the Princess' bedchamber and assist her in her preparations," he ordered as impersonally as possible. As Mrs. Gates hurried past him, he turned to Captain Flint. "May I offer some refreshment? You may wait for Her Royal Highness on the veranda. Please convey my regards to Lady Livia and my gratitude for her gracious assistance in resolving this matter satisfactorily. Please assure her also that the Princess as been treated as an honored guest, and with all respect."

"Thank you, Captain. I will."

Excusing himself, he sent Isaac to fetch some refreshment for Captain Flint. From the window, he could see Gates conversing quietly with Flint. He felt sick when he saw the other Captain hand Gates a heavy looking purse. His stock collar suddenly felt suffocating and he pulled it off.

Hearing sounds in the bedroom, he hurried in to see Mrs. Gates helping Emma with the last of her preparations, the two of them shutting and latching the small trunk.

"Mrs. Gates, a moment, please. I believe Isaac may need a little help in the kitchen." She left, shutting the door. He turned to her, agony in his eyes, but she spoke before he could.

"Killian, I don't want you to take me down to the ship," she said tersely, her voice low and frantic.

He started to protest but she gripped his hands and cut him off.

"I don't want them to see us….together. We may try, but we will betray ourselves. You know we would."

"Gods, Emma, do you think I can just sit in the house doing nothing while they take you away from me?" he said in a low but fierce voice. "I've got to at least take you to the ship, make sure you're all right!" He swept her up in his arms and pulled her to his breast. She could feel the buttons of his coat cutting through the thin fabric of her dress so tight was his grip.

"No, I must beg you not to do that," she said brokenly, her arms going around his neck and taking a handful of his hair in each fist.

"Can't you understand anything? If I have to say a formal good bye to you as my … my what? My host? My captor? My lover? Say good bye, turn around on my heel, board a strange ship and sail away from you standing there with your eyes burning my flesh every minute?" She sagged into him, sobbing brokenly. "Please, please don't make me do that! I am begging you, if you love me, do not put me through that! It would kill me…."

For once, Killian Jones didn't know what to say. He simply held her, stroking her hair and letting her collect herself. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her damp cheeks.

"Th-thanks," she said at last, her voice trembling, wiping tears from her eyes. "Do you understand now?"

He nodded slowly, feeling unable to breathe or even think straight.

In the end, he asked Gates and Isaac to put Emma on the horse, escort her to the ship, and ensure that she was comfortable before bidding Captain Flint and his crew farewell. He made them swear on their lives to take care of her, then he returned to the house.

"They're ready now…" he began, but before he could finish, she hurled herself into his arms, seized him by his jacket collar, and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Wrapping one arm around her waist and tangling his other into her hair, he deepened the kiss, his lips and tongue fierce, possessive, plundering. As he lost himself in the kiss, she quickly pulled away.

"Don't say goodbye. Don't try to follow me," she ordered. Seizing his hand, she pressed something cool and metal into it, then closed his fist firmly. "Never forget that I love only you."

Then she was gone.

He sagged into the nearest armchair, uncomprehending and nearly catatonic with grief and shock. For some time he lay there, stunned, paying no heed to Mrs. Gates as she fussed around him, bringing him water, rum and finally, driven to desperation by his glazed eyes and dumbness, went off to the kitchen to make tea.

Gradually, the numbness in his body abated, and he felt his still-clenched fist, his nails digging into the skin. Opening his fist slowly, he stared as he saw a locket on a pendant he'd seen around his Swan's neck dozens of time when she'd dressed in her finery for him. The locket was fine enamel, carved into a relief of a beautiful swan. He knew her father had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday and it was her most treasured possession. Fumbling with the clasp, he opened it to find a lock of her golden hair.

A tortured sob rose in his throat. What was he thinking? He tore out of the house and ran after her screaming her name like a madman. He covered the distance to the small port village in no time at all, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. He had reached the rocky outcropping that jutted from the ridge just over top of the village below. And as he did, he saw the ship cast off and begin to drift slowly away. He was too late. Straining his eyes, he could see her slight figure standing near the rail, her eyes lifted towards La Felicita, her bright hair streaming behind her in the wind.

Without even realizing it, he sank to his knees on the rock, sobbing brokenly as he watched her growing smaller and smaller as the wind caught the ship sails and she began to pick up speed. It felt as if someone had reached brutally into his chest, pulled out his still beating heart, and crushed it into dust before his eyes.

**IT WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED IF YOU WOULD LEAVE A REVIEW OR PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PM ME WITH YOUR COMMENTS! **

**THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING/FOLLOWING/FAVORITING - IT KEEPS ME GOING!**

_*The story of Majnun and Layla is an ancient legend with many variations from the Middle East and central Asia. One version was written and popularized by the Persian poet Nizami. It was an inspiration for the classic song "Layla" by Derek & the Dominos._

_**Yes! I'm making a guest appearance in my own story!_


	20. The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys

**THANKS TO THE FANTASTIC DANCINGDOULA FOR HER GENEROSITY AND MAD SKILLS AS MY BETA! **

**THANKS TO THE GENEROUS READERS WHO PUBLISHED REVIEWS ENCOURAGING ME TO UPDATE FAST AND WHO ARE CHEERING FOR KILLIAN AND EMMA TO FIND EACH OTHER AGAIN!**

Chapter 20: The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys

_Three Years Later__…__._

"Get up, ya dozy bugger!" A rough voice shouted over him just as a bucket of cold water was unceremoniously dumped over his head. He spluttered, coughed, and opened his eyes to see a figure looming over him, a rueful yet not unfriendly expression on his face.

Killian groaned, shaking the water out of his hair like a wet dog and wiping his face, his head pounding and his eyes wincing from the early morning light that streamed into the drawing room at La Felicita. Several empty rum and brandy bottles lay strewn on the floor next to him. As was often the case in the three years since Emma's departure, he'd passed out cold on a divan, drinking to dull the pain and chase away the bad dreams and regrets that haunted him. He was badly hung-over.

"What the hell are you doing here, Richard?" Killian groaned, his head in his hands.

"Helping you, that's what. You're not doing her or yourself any good lying around here drunk all the time," retorted Sharpe, throwing his green jacket in a chair. He was a tall, lean man with a mane of blonde shaggy hair, sharp angular cheekbones, and deep-set, cat-like green eyes. His face bore a pronounced crescent shaped scar on his right cheek and another over his left eye, the latter from an accidental slash from Killian's hook.* He looked to be in his late forties but, like Hook, his stay in Neverland had cheated death and prolonged his life by several centuries.

Seizing Killian by the scruff of his neck, he pulled him to his feet and dragged him roughly in the direction of the bedroom. "Get yourself cleaned up; you're a bloody disgrace. What would your Father think?"

His head pounding too hard for him to think clearly, Killian didn't bother to resist. Instead he obediently headed for the washroom and put himself together, grumbling, while Richard left him to make some tea. He washed, changed into a set of fresh clothes for the first time in days, and even trimmed his facial hair for the first time in weeks.

When he returned from his ablutions, he found Richard making himself at home, having tea with jam and bread at the kitchen table, his booted legs propped on a nearby chair.

Sitting down glumly, Killian poured himself a cup. "What news?" he asked.

"There's been a lot of talk – rumors, really, nothing confirmed. But it seems your lass might be in trouble," Richard said sympathetically.

Killian felt his stomach plummet to the floor. This was the moment he had been both hoping for and dreading since she had left.

"What have you heard?" he asked, gripping the table and leaning forward, his eyes intense.

"They keep things very close in that place, as you know. It's hard to get much of anything out of there… Christ, the whole place is like a bloody prison camp," Richard said frowning. "But a few months ago, that Prince she married – James – up and died, seems under mysterious circumstances. Since then, no one's seen her or heard from her. Some think she might be locked up somewhere in the castle, but no one knows for sure."

Agitated, Killian got up and began pacing, nervously running his hand back and forth through his hair. He knew she was still alive-he could still feel her-but for the past few weeks his dreams had grown increasingly dark and troubled again, much as they had been right after she had been torn away from him. He knew in his bones something wasn't right. He'd gone back to the bottle again trying to cope, trying to snatch a few hours of sleep in between the nightmares. Now Richard was confirming what he had only sensed.

At last he stopped pacing, turned around to face Richard and said firmly, "It's time, then."

Richard paused a moment, then nodded, eyes locking on his. "Aye, that it is. But are you prepared – really prepared, for what lies ahead?"

Killian sat down, thinking about the last three years. At first, he had been so devastated he could barely think or move. The pain inside him throbbed and burned so intensely he had lain in their bed in a kind of stupor, curtains drawn against the sunshine, refusing food or even water for days. He wouldn't let anyone, including Mrs. Gates, come near him, bolting the door and refusing to come out. He wouldn't let her clean the room or even change the sheets, instead wrapping himself in the sheets and burying his head in the pillows that still smelled of _her_ and their lovemaking. He'd thrown all of his necklaces and talisman into a drawer and wore only her swan pendant around his neck, fondling and clutching it constantly. He'd taken out the miniature he had stolen the first night he'd met her, but the sight of her beautiful, lost face would cause the tears to run freely and finally he had put it away, the agony too much to bear.

Finally, Mrs. Gates had pounded on the door. "Captain! Captain! You've got to listen to me! Your lady has been sent to a terrible place. Gods only know what dangers might befall her. How will you be able to rescue her if she needs you if you don't stop trying to kill yourself?"

He'd opened his eyes then, the force of her words hitting him like the bucket of cold water Richard had just thrown over him. Grudgingly, he got out of bed, surveyed his wrecked face, and started eating again, and drinking again. And then drinking more. Mrs. Gates would regularly find him passed out on the floor, a bottle still clutched in his hand. Isaac, anxious for him, would help him to bed to sleep it off.

Inexorably linked by the silver chain, he could feel her, the pull both comforting and yet tormenting. He knew she was safe and comfortable, which eased his mind, and that she was… happy. He couldn't tell the nature of her happiness, whether it was unreserved joy or merely resigned contentment, but he sensed it nonetheless. He began to torture himself with thoughts that she had fallen in love with her husband, being held as he had once held her, kissing her sensual lips and suckling at her white breasts. The thought of another man possessing what _belonged to him_, enjoying her, violating her, penetrating her and filling her with his seed enraged him to the point of madness, and he would bang his head against the table to drive out the hideous thoughts and images that terrorized him. Then he would drink himself into oblivion.

Sometimes, though, she would come to him in a lovely dream so realistic and vivid he could swear he was actually touching her, holding her. She would brush the tears from his eyes with her soft hand and whisper to him not to worry, that she still loved him and only him, that it would be all right. He would make love to her and feel her convulsing around him as they climaxed together. When he awoke he would find himself with his arms around nothing but air, and find that he had either spurted his release all over himself, or was plagued by a painful hardness that he had to relieve with his own hand. He never wanted to wake from those dreams; he would fight to stay under as the dawning day tried to steal her away from him yet again.

It went on like this for many months until the more temperate weather of the winter and spring and gave way to increasing heat as summer drew near. Then, one day something odd happened. It was Midsummer's Day, the longest day of the year. Killian sourly refused to leave the house and go down to the small port village to join in with the festivities of the day and evening, choosing instead to drink away the morning lying in bed until he fell asleep for most of the afternoon. He startled wide awake from his deep sleep in the early evening, hearing the roll of thunder and seeing flashes of lightening as a sudden storm passed over the island. He got up and stood at the window for a time and watched as the heavy downpour lashed the stormy ocean, gradually tapering off as the storm, as if in a fit of caprice, moved rapidly away. Turning, he walked out onto the large terrace just as the last of the raindrops fell and the skies to the south began to clear. The clouds parted, and out over the bay, the sun suddenly appeared and shone brightly through the vaporous air, revealing a perfect rainbow.

He couldn't say how or why, but suddenly a bolt of pure joy and happiness shot through his enervated body and tormented mind. He knew it was coming from _her_. A genuine smile spread across his face as he felt her, felt the strength of their love, flowing through him and binding him to her even across far lands and seas. At that moment, he knew he had to pull himself together and prepare himself for the time when he would reclaim her.

And so he began to formulate a plan. He'd first gone to Richard to secure his help immediately after his epiphany under the rainbow. Together they had devised a series of plans for various contingencies and then worked for the past two years preparing to execute any one of them as circumstances demanded. All Killian needed was a signal that the time had come. Today with Richard's news was the day that signal arrived.

Aloud, Killian merely nodded and affirmed that he was indeed ready and went over to his desk to retrieve a number of maps. He unrolled them onto the large kitchen table and he and Richard stood over them and began to review them once again.

"We'll take the ships and disperse one or two to hit Vargos here, here, here, and here," said Killian, touching four map points with his finger. "All of them are the sites of Titus' huge forced labor camps for the countless foreign and domestic prisoners he has enslaved through his wars and his paranoia. There will be strict orders against looting, raping and otherwise molesting the townspeople or the prisoners. Instead, we'll kill any members of the garrisons that try to stop us and liberate all the prisoners, who will have every reason to turn on their jailors or flee to their homes again. It will be chaos, and hopefully outright rebellion." He smiled in satisfaction.

Richard nodded slowly. "Normally such a small force would have no chance against the Vargos ports but with Titus' army decimated and overextended in his endless war against the Sakkaran Empire, the garrisons are only lightly manned anyway, mostly young boys, old men and crippled ex-soldiers from the front. It's a bad business," he said with distaste. "Chances are they'll run if we take them by surprise and hit 'em with heavy artillery."

"What does her father say?" Killian asked. Richard had spent some time in the Enchanted Forest assisting Snow White and Prince David in rebuilding their armed forces to mount their own attack on Vargos to rescue their daughter while Titus and his main forces were tied down in the East.

"He's ready. Their forces and allies-including Robin of Locksley and his men-will depart the moment we give the word. They'll reinforce us with fresh troops after the initial attack, but even with their help, we'll need to do everything we can to assist the liberated prisoners and oppressed subjects mount their own rebellion against Titus. That's crucial." Richard told him.

"What have you heard about the potential for rebellion?" Killian asked.

"That the place has been ready to explode for years, and that the majority of Titus' army has been wiped out not only by the Sakkaran horsemen, but by the harsh winter weather, starvation, and disease. It's a suicide mission driven by Titus' vainglory," replied Richard, his face dark. "How many ships and men, and how are they equipped?"

Killian grinned for the first time. "Fifteen, including four man o' war ships. All equipped with ten to twelve 36 pound cannon on the lower decks, and 24 pounders on the upper, as well as plenty of 12 pounders on the deck. Enough rifles and pistols to equip every man, maybe 50 to 100 per ship. Some of the men will be sailors, mostly pirates, others regular soldiers armed with swords."

Richard's jaw dropped. "Where did you find so many?" Last he had heard, Killian had personally acquired through plunder or outright purchase four vessels in addition to the Jolly, now completely reconditioned, reequipped and even renamed now as "The Sea Wolf." Killian had used not only his own fortune, but all of his share of the heavy purse Gates had received as ransom for Emma to purchase any equipment that he wasn't able to take by force and to recruit able sailors and fighting men. Killian also had decided that as a precaution and subterfuge, he needed to retire Captain Hook, the infamous pirate captor of the Princess Emma, in favor of a fresh identity, at least for the time being.

"You'll be shocked to learn that Livia is now on our side. Ten of them, two thirds of the men, and a large part of the artillery belong to her." Killian exulted.

"That's a surprise indeed. What happened?"

"That maniac Titus is his own worst enemy. He's so desperate for money to fund his dying Imperial dream that he began harassing and threatening Livia to take a piece of the revenue from every ship that uses Pontus for transshipment. Well, I don't have to tell you what a great mistake he made crossing that old harpy." Killian laughed.

Richard guffawed too. "Like Medusa on the rag," he joked. "How good are the men you've recruited?"

"A horde of ravening whorescum for the most part, just as you'd expect," Killian answered.

"I'd expect no different, but can they fight?" Richard asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Aye," Killian affirmed, "they're fighters all right. Our biggest challenge will be maintaining discipline, no more, no less."

"Leave that to me," Richard laughed. "Discipline is always a rabble-rouser's shout from anarchy anyway, Wellington always said."

"This calls for a drink," Killian said walking to the cabinet. He took out a bottle of his best brandy and poured two glasses for them. Handing one to Richard, they clinked glasses and drank them off at once. They repaired to the drawing room and spent the rest of the day refining their strategy and reviewing the Vargan fortifications.

"I think we should wait a few days after the port cities have been attacked and the prisons emptied. If the anarchy we hope for occurs, there's no reason I can't sail right into the capital with my own ships and take over the port there. The fortress on the hill known as The Citadel – the place she's probably held – will be a different matter," Killian said. "I'm not sure at this point how we'll find out exactly where she's being held, but I'll find out and then devise a way to get in. Thank the gods for my experiences as a jewelry thief."

Richard gave him a disapproving look. "Well, I'm assuming you won't be sharing your rescue plans with anyone else, most especially Livia and her people." He leaned back in his chair and picked up another map.

"Keep secrets from allies?" Killian said mockingly, "Why of course I would! I've been taught by the best," he winked at Richard.

"Perfectly correct," Richard chuckled, "after all, lovers keep secrets, yet they still make love."

"I'm glad to see _you_ never change," Killian said, laughing and punching Richard in the arm.

They had another drink, and Killian's face turned serious again. "You know, even with the additional men and equipment, the odds are against us. Do you think our mad plan has any chance at all of success?"

Richard didn't reply at once. Instead, he rose from his chair, paced up and down a few times and then went over to the window and gazed out of it pensively.

"I think," he said, looking gloomy again, "I think winter is comin'."

**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW OR PM ME YOUR COMMENTS THEY INSPIRE ME AND MAKE ME WRITE FASTER! AND IF YOU ARE ENJOYING THE STORY AND THINK OTHERS ALSO MIGHT LIKE IT, I'D BE SO GRATEFUL FOR A SHOUT OUT ON YOUR TUMBLR PAGE! CANT WAIT FOR SEASON 4 TO START!**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!**

_*In fact, actor Sean Bean who portrays both Richard Sharpe and Ned Stark bears a slash scar over his left eye, a scar actually inflicted by a BOAT HOOK. This was the inspiration for his cameo in my story about Captain Hook. The difference is that in my story Killian accidentally slashes him, in real life Bean received the scar from Harrison Ford during the filming of the climactic fight scene in the movie Patriot Games._


	21. All Along The Watchtower

**EMMA MAKES AN 'ENTRANCE', KILLIAN GETS A BIG SURPRISE, HOT REUNION SEX(!), AND LUCIUS VORENUS (KEVIN MCKID) AND TITUS PULLO (RAY STEVENSON) MAKE A SPECIAL GUEST CAMEO APPEARANCE.**

**BETA READ BY THE DIVINE GODDESS DANCINGDOULA**

Chapter 21: All Along The Watchtower

Emma sat in front of the window of the fortress tower in which she was held prisoner. She tried to read the book in her lap, but every once in a while she looked out the window toward the town and the docks below. How cliché, she thought wryly, I've become a Princess locked in a tower, waiting for her Prince, or in this case her Pirate, to finally come and rescue her.

She looked out across the narrow bay beyond the docks out toward the horizon, frowning a little as she considered her predicament as well as the past three years, most of them married to Prince James and relatively tranquil until the horrible night six months ago when the horror had occurred. Considering how devastated, lost and empty she had felt the day she sailed away from Killian, things had been better than she had feared, and she certainly had her compensations. Not that any of them prevented her from aching for him, night after night, her only comfort the nights that she met him in her dreams, feeling his kisses and embraces, climaxing in her sleep as she felt him surging into her.

She had sensed keenly that Killian was suffering a great deal of misery, that he had been pining for her. She prayed he hadn't let his despair turn him to the dark side again. Hoisting her leg onto the chair, she pulled up her skirt and fingered her mithril ankle bracelet with a wistful smile on her face. She knew for certain he was still alive, otherwise the chain would have broken and fallen off. But she could sense his emotions through the medium of the magical metal, and his palpable loneliness and anguish had been like a knife through her heart. For the thousandth time, she prayed he would have the strength to endure his pain and hang onto hope until he could come for her. Recently she had felt his thoughts turn and his heart become happier. She knew he was on his way.

Had she been able to leave the fortress and Vargos for good, she would have done so and gone straight to him. But she was tethered as surely as if she'd been manacled in the dungeons. She wished fervently that she had been able to talk to her parents, but she'd never been allowed to return to see them. Only letters – carefully worded to escape the scrutiny of Titus' spies who read every one – were allowed beyond the borders, though she occasionally got a message through.

Despite her secluded existence, she knew that chaos had broken out in the unhappy, shackled Vargan Empire. A small fleet of heavily armed corsairs had sailed up the lightly fortified coastal defenses and raided all the major and minor ports. They'd opened the jails and prison labor camps and stirred up the townspeople. Now full-scale insurrection and guerilla warfare had broken out everywhere except the capital. Little was known about the raiders, though Pontus was rumored to be their port of origin. All that was known is that they were led by a dashing commander known simply as The Sea Wolf. She gave a little laugh. He could call himself whatever he liked, but she knew it was her Killian. It wouldn't be long now.

She continued watching for hours as she had done every day for the past week. Finally, a speck appeared far out on the horizon, then two, three, four, five. They were moving swiftly, becoming larger as the moments ticked by. No one tried to stop them; all the Vargan naval ships had either been destroyed or were occupied elsewhere prosecuting Titus' endless wars. In his overconfidence and overreaching, he'd left the capital virtually undefended. She waited until the ships made port. She could see the black sails and just make out a grey and white flag flapping with the head of a wolf on it.

She smiled.

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

When the ships had sailed uncontested into the harbor, Killian had thought at first it was a trap. All crew were hunkered down, all guns at the ready, prepared to blast the hell out of any ships or town fortifications that tried to resist. But it was eerily quiet. No one appeared to be about, perhaps having fled or hiding in their houses. Killian sent armed scouts into town and they returned to tell him that the garrison had deserted? up the hill to The Citadel rather than mount a futile resistance. The town was theirs for the taking, at least for now. Posting sentries and guards at each gate and along the main roads, he also sent agents into the town and surrounding countryside with the express purpose of discovering all vital information about the fortress, including the whereabouts of the Princess. Satisfied that the town was temporarily secured, he returned to his ship to assess his next move. He was sitting in his cabin sipping brandy and studying a map of the town when he heard a knock at the door, and Smee entered.

"Captain," he said, breathlessly, "There's someone to see you."

"Who?" asked the Captain, frowning, immediately sensing a potential threat.

"Um, two men, look like they might be soldiers but in ordinary clothes. They have something for you, sir. They say it's a gift for you, from the fortress. From the Princess herself!"

Killian desperately hoped she had sent him some acknowledgement or communication, but he was cautious. It could be a trick.

.

"Wait a minute – what the hell kind of 'gift' did they bring? Did you see it? Is it small? A large box, what?"

"Well," said Smee, scratching his head as if puzzled, "it looks like a carpet, sir."

"A carpet? What the bloody hell?" he furrowed his brow, suspicious.

"I'm to tell you to trust them, sir," Smee, explained, "I'm to give you the message that Princess Emma hopes you remember how much she appreciated your fencing lessons."

Killian grinned to himself at the memory, reassured that the gift, whatever it was, had truly come from her.

But to be safe, he gave Smee further instructions. "Make sure the crew is on the deck and armed to the teeth just in case there is some sabotage or strange magic. Keep pistols on these two men you speak of."

"Yes, Captain," said Smee, turning to leave.

Killian waited a few minutes, then stamped up the stairs after Smee, suddenly eager and curious.

On the deck stood two exceedingly tough looking men, one about six feet tall with distinctive red gold hair and pale skin, glowering at Killian with eyes just as blue as his own. The other was a large man, at least six four, with closely cropped light brown hair. Both were powerfully built and he hadn't a doubt in his mind they were experienced and hardened fighters. He fingered his scabbard, bracing himself, his eyes going to the bundle in their hands. It did indeed look to be a rolled up carpet. They were surrounded by crewmen pointing swords and pistols directly at them.

"I am the Captain," he said, "You say you have a gift for me from the Princess. What is it?"

As if in reply, the two set the carpet on the floor and gave it a shove. When it quickly unrolled, the entire crew, including himself, dropped their jaws and gasped audibly in amazement.

Lying at the end was a woman. A woman with long blond hair in what looked like a white nightgown. She gracefully arched her back upward to a seated position, her palms braced behind her to support her weight. Reaching out first one arm, then the second, she lightly brushed the dust from her skin, arranged her hair, then turned dramatically to her side to rest on her right hip and face him. She extended her hand, as if to be kissed, every inch the Royal Princess despite her strange conveyance

For a moment he knew his heart had stopped and he ceased breathing altogether, so great was his amazement. A delighted smile spread across his face, the first genuine smile in three years as he walked – all the while fighting the temptation to run - towards her.

Now, _that_, Gentlemen," he announced admiringly, nodding toward Emma and addressing the crew, "is an _entrance!"_

Mindful of appearances, he resisted the overwhelming impulse to gather her in his arms and cover her with hungry kisses. Instead, he took her outstretched hand, helped her up, and then kissed her hand, his lips lingering rather longer than required by mere politeness. When at last he raised his head, he didn't let go, either. Ordering the crew to stand down and get the two soldiers something to eat and drink, he escorted Emma with due ceremony and proper protocol to his cabin.

As soon as the door was closed behind them and they had cleared the stair, they fell on each other like starving dogs that had just been hurled a slab of raw meat. Emma seized his collar in her fists and pulled him into her, one of his arms tangling into her long golden hair and one wrapping around her waist to pull her hard against his body. She melted into him as his full lips captured hers, his tongue plundering her mouth insistently. She broke away from his lips to press her face into his tan, muscled chest, inhaling his particular masculine scent. The feel and smell of him intoxicated her, arousing a fierce rush of pure, animal lust, and she could feel his hardness against her.

He moaned contentedly as he felt her licking and kissing at his chest as his right hand moved along her neck and shoulder to pull the strap down on her gown to reveal her naked breast. Groaning from a jolt of lust as he palmed her breast and rolled her nipple into a hard point, she turned her face back up and parted her lips to feel his kiss. He moaned into her mouth then, and reached down to lift her off the floor so that her legs could wrap around his waist.

"You taste so delicious, love," he murmured, carrying her over to the bed, "I thought I'd go mad without you…without this…" The two of them fell onto the bed, Emma still clinging to him. He wrenched the other strap of her gown off her shoulder to feast his eyes on her naked breast. "Oh gods," he breathed, "I've missed these." He sucked greedily on one until she gave a sharp little cry of mingled pain and pleasure, fisting her hands in his hair as he turned his attention to her other nipple.

Her heart hammered and she was breathing in ragged gulps. She could feel herself clenching with need and a torrent of wetness seeping from her body. She was arching her breast into his hungry mouth and grinding herself against him, desperate for friction, when he pulled himself to his knees.

His chest heaving and his eyes black with lust, he rucked up her gown and ran his fingers through her saturated folds, rubbing her quivering bud with his thumb and plunging his fingers into her. "Gods, Emma," he breathed, wonderingly, "you're dripping for me."

When he curled his fingers and stroked inside her, her eyes rolled back into her head as, unable to help herself, she came apart around his fingers with a hoarse cry, legs trembling as the sensations overwhelmed her. He stroked her through her shuddering convulsions as she began impatiently pulling him toward her.

"Fuck me, pirate," she ordered him in a raspy voice, "I've been dreaming of your cock inside me for three goddamn years! Hurry up!"

His own hands were trembling with desire as he unbuttoned his pants and his straining cock sprang free of its dark confines. Curling her right leg over his shoulder, he lined himself up and surged into her as deeply as he could penetrate. Emma emitted a little shriek as she felt his thick, heavy length hit the very deepest core of her lush body, then began to arch her back and contract around him. She pulled him down close to her, nails biting his shoulder, lips biting and sucking at his neck.

"I've dreamed of fucking you just like this every bloody night since you left," he groaned, "I would have sold my soul for one more night between your legs." He pounded into her like it was his last fuck on earth – and for all he knew, it might be. She trembled and shook beneath him from the force of his thrusts and her own arousal until he felt her begin to convulse powerfully around his throbbing cock, screaming his name as she began coming undone again. He grasped her flanks in his hands and fucked her into the mattress, his hips stuttering as the cumulative frustration of three empty years spurted out of him in a hot, thunderous release that was almost painful in its sharp intensity. He came, almost sobbing as he cried her name.

They both lay gasping ragged, harsh breaths, sweat running off their bodies, shuddering with the aftershocks of their climaxes as they clung to one another. When their breathing had eased a little and they had wiped the beads of moisture from their faces, he stayed on top of her, not pulling out but kissing every inch of her sweet face tenderly as she stroked his hair, his neck, his back. "You don't know how much I've missed you. I thought I would lose my mind," he said tenderly, still fearful she would turn out to be a really convincing hallucination. "I thought I knew what love was before. But it was only having you and losing you that showed me what it really means to truly love someone body, mind, heart, and soul."

"I love you, Killian," she whispered softly, eyes welling with tears, "I always have, and I always will. You are the only man I could ever love."

He smiled at her then, brushing her tears away with his thumb. But when he moved to raise himself, she stopped him. "Darling," he reassured her, "I don't want to go anywhere, but I need to get dressed and give the crew orders. We need to be away as quickly as possible now that we've got you here safely. Delightful stratagem, by the way, please tell me how you did it when we've time…hadn't expected it to be this easy."

She stopped him then with a firm tug. "It's not going to be easy," she said, her voice deadly serious. "I'm not leaving with you now. I can't."

"What the devil do you mean, you can't?" he demanded, his voice rising in confusion as he sat up, surprised.

"Killian, wait – you don't understand! I can't leave because it's not just me. I have a child and we can't leave him behind!" She struggled up now to sit beside him, pulling her nightdress up around her.

His mouth fell open. He should have been prepared for such a disclosure, but he wasn't. He had heard rumors, nothing confirmed, that the Vargan royal family kept such things very close, not announcing royal children until they were well into their third year since only the most robust could survive infancy in a place like this. "A child?" he said stupidly.

"Yes," she said, taking his hand gently, both still seated on the bed. "A son. His name is Jamie."

"Jamie…" the pirate nodded, dazed, "after his father, then."

"No," she said slowly, as if addressing a feeble minded child. "He's named after my late husband, and he turned two years old three months ago."

She watched his face change as the full import of her words sank in. His face changed from surprise and confusion to shocked wonder and bewilderment.

Suddenly, he gripped her shoulders hard as he locked his fierce blue gaze upon her, the color draining from his face. "Emma, stop toying with me. Are you telling me that I…that we…" he trailed off, unable to form the words.

"I know you're understandably shocked, but yes," she said. "Your son. _Our _son. Now you understand why I can't leave with you now. We have to find a way to get him out of there!"

He put his arms around her, still a little stupefied but unbearably happy. He rocked and soothed her, promising they would get their boy, that all would be well.

"But how? You told me Regina had given you a potion to prevent conception when we were together." He still could barely comprehend what she had told him.

"I lied," she said, sheepishly. "I made it up. I didn't want you to try to do anything, or change anything, to try to prevent it. And I hoped that you would make me pregnant. I'm only sorry I wasn't honest with you."

"You are daft! Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?" He was entirely perplexed, tugging at his ear in frustration.

"I was in love with you, you mad bastard!" she said defiantly. "I knew I was going to have to leave and never see you again. I wanted to have…something of you that would stay with me, that wouldn't be taken from me." She was wringing her hands now, her eyes blazing into his. "Aren't you in the least bit happy?"

He pulled her to him, stroking her hair. "Of course I am! Just utterly stunned senseless. It's difficult to take it in, that's all. When was he born? What does he look like? Is he healthy?" His questions tumbled out; he had so many there would scarcely be time to learn everything he had missed, that he would need to know.

"He was born on Midsummer's Eve the year after I left," she said, her voice filled with love and wonder, "But you knew that, didn't you?"

"Aye," he said, smiling suddenly realizing what had happened. "I might have guessed it. I felt something that night, felt _you _– and then the clouds parted and I saw the most beautiful, perfect rainbow out over the bay I'd ever seen anywhere. I felt a sense of unaccountable joy and I knew something wonderful had happened. But I was so miserable, Emma, so lonely…I couldn't let myself even dare to hope for or even consider the possibility of such a miracle."

She squeezed his shoulder, nodding. "I tried so hard to send a message to you with my mind and heart, perhaps my magic is more effective than I know, but I daren't send word to you, for all our protection. Oh, Killian, he looks exactly like miniature you! Dark hair, beautiful blue eyes, he even has your nose and your cocky attitude," she said laughing. "And your elf ears."

He just shook his head with wonder, joy surging through him. "Wait, I do not have elf ears!"

"Yes, you do," she laughed, running her hand through his hair and tweaking the point of one ear affectionately.

He laughed then, but then his face sobered, anxietyreplacing joy. "And how did you possibly get away with this? Or didn't you?" he asked sharply.

"Titus doesn't know, if that's what you're asking," she replied. "And I 'got away with it,' as you so diplomatically put it, because my late husband James helped me."

"What?" Killian said, shocked again. He was beginning to wonder how many such shocks his heart could take in one night.

"You heard me. James helped me. In fact, he was delighted. And he was a loving and devoted father in every way, until he was killed." Her face had a wistful look on it, and he realized she had cared for him.

"Did he think he was the father?" Killian asked, getting up to pour them both some stiff shots of brandy.

"No. And he was fine with that."

"Explain yourself," Killian demanded, returning to sit on the bed and handing her a glass.

Plumping up the pillows, Emma leaned back and told him the whole story. "James was not in love with me, and the truth is he wasn't sexually interested in women at all. He'd been desperately in love since he was thirteen years old with his childhood friend Francesco. Obviously, he had to hide this from his tyrant father, and I, and Jamie, provided him with the perfect cover.

"He and I lived quite happily for the better part of the past three years at a relatively secluded summer palace by the seaside. Francesco and Jamie lived there too and we rarely saw Titus. We all got on famously and both Cesco and James positively doted on Jamie." She smiled, remembering.

"So my son has had in effect two fathers other than myself?" Killian asked, not sure how he felt about this information

"Well, to be honest it was more like Jamie had three mommies, but the important thing is that he was loved and cherished. And on the bright side, I have been able to stay chaste for you as Layla did to Majnun," she smiled shyly at him and caressed his cheek tenderly.

He leaned over and kissed her softly. "I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I will say that information makes me foolishly happy."

"What about you? Still wenching and whoring?" she queried playfully.

"I think you know the answer without my telling you," he said, unamused. "What did you tell your late husband about me?" he asked stiffly.

"I didn't think it wise to reveal too much, but I'm sure he would have liked you. You were just his type," she teased as he huffed at her. "But he did want to know one thing: were you a good man."

"And what did you say," he asked, sincerely curious.

"I said, 'Define good'."

He threw back his head and laughed at that. "In any event," he continued when he recovered himself, "we need to devise a plan to retrieve Jamie with all speed. Can you take him for a walk or something?"

"Ah, there's the rub," she said. "You heard that my husband died?" He nodded. "He was murdered, by his own father, right in front of me."

"What happened?" he asked, horrified. He put his arm around her again sympathetically.

She closed her eyes a moment and shuddered, remembering. "He came to visit in the middle of the night, wholly unexpected, and found them together – in bed. He cut Cesco's throat, called them both all sorts of vile names. I heard the screaming and came from my bedroom to see what was happening. When he saw James cradling Cesco's head and weeping over his dying body, Titus called him a disgusting, unnatural pervert and no son of his. He pulled him away from Cesco and just…just throttled him to death, his eyes bugging out of his head, face so red he looked like he would explode, shouting obscenities." Her voice broke and her face had a haunted look. "He's … he's _insane._ Then he turned on me, accused me of covering for them. I was afraid he would kill me too, but he didn't. Instead, he's kept me locked up in a tower for six months and prevented me from seeing Jamie!" She began weeping now, distraught.

"I've already tried to escape with him but it's been impossible," she sobbed into his chest, "he's too well guarded. I can't even get someone I trust posted as a guard, it's only Titus' oldest, most trusted ruffians. The two men I brought with me tonight, Vorenus and Pullo – they're my bodyguards, infiltrators my parents sent secretly before I arrived. They are loyal to me, and fierce fighters. Normally it would be nothing to them. But there are just too many guards and the tower where he's being held is fortified heavily with soldiers and fiendish weapons and traps. We'll need a larger force. That's why I needed to wait for you." She wiped her tears and set her face, determination and purpose replacing her earlier sorrow.

He nodded slowly, taking it in, thinking of how to do it. "Can you provide any plans or details about the castle and its defenses?"

"Yes," she affirmed, "Vorenus has them. I have detailed maps, everything we could discover. I'll give them to you before I return. And I know the perfect time to make our move – in three days' time at the Autumn Solstice Festival. It's a huge celebration, most of the staff and even the soldiers will have the night off or at least be drunk. That's our moment."

"Hmmm," he pondered, stroking his beard, "I'll work out a plan, and I've got the men to do the job as long as reinforcements don't arrive, though my intelligence to date makes that unlikely for at least a week or more. But I don't like the idea of you going back there alone."

"I have to. If I'm discovered missing tomorrow morning, all hell will break loose and we'll lose whatever chance we have."

"How'd you escape in the first place?" he asked.

"Oh it's easy, just climbed down the tower. It's on the northeast side, very isolated, very dark. Vorenus and Pullo met me at the bottom with the carpet to hide in and you saw the rest. You know," she said smugly, "I've always had a bit of a flair for drama. They've pretty much forgotten me anyway. Titus knows I'd never leave without Jamie."

They tidied up their disheveled appearances. "Thank the gods you didn't leave any visible marks this time," she said, inspecting herself. "But I didn't," she smiled with satisfaction as she eyed the dark marks on his neck. "Put your collar on so we don't scandalize Vorenus."

"Which one's Vorenus?" he asked, putting his collar on as he followed her to the door.

"The stern, dour one with red hair is Vorenus and the cheerful, brutish one is Pullo."

Returning to the deck, she introduced Killian to her protectors and supervised the discreet transfer of the valise carrying the valuable maps to Killian.

"Ready to go, miss?" the taller one asked.

"Not looking forward to suffocating in that damn carpet again, but needs must," she grimaced as he unrolled it for her.

She extended her hand formally to Killian. "Thank you for your indulgence, Captain, I am relieved to know that you have decided to spare the lives of the innocent citizens of our capital and will treat them fairly. That is all I seek," she concluded loudly enough for any eavesdroppers to hear.

"Of course, Your Highness, it has been an honor, and my deepest pleasure," he said bowing low over her hand, an amused glint in his eye. He gave her a secret wink as he stood up again.

She gave him a last, longing look and then lay back on the carpet. Pullo rolled her up and slung her over his broad shoulder. Killian hid his smile when he heard a small "ooof!" sound from inside the rug.

He stared wistfully after them as the two men departed, gliding alongside the quay in the direction of the black fortress looming above.

"Don't think you're fooling _us_," Pullo said quietly to the carpet.

The carpet emitted a small giggle and then was silent.

**PLEASE MAKE MY DAY BY REVIEWING,SEND ME A PM, OR EVEN A REC ON YOUR TUMBLR/TWITTER - YOUR SUPPORT AND COMMENTS MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME! HAVE A FANTASTIC WEEKEND. THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING.**

**IF YOU LIKE MY WRITING, PLEASE CHECK OUT MY NEW FIC, SAVING PRINCE KILLIAN. IT TAKES A DIFFERENT APPROACH ON KILLIAN/EMMA/MILAH AND ID LOVE YOUR REACTIONS.**


	22. Wet Sand

CHAPTER 22: Wet Sand

_You don't form in the wet sand._

_You don't form at all._

_You don't form in the wet sand._

_I do.*_

The next morning, Emma awoke feeling hopeful for the first time in months. Not just hopeful, but ecstatically happy and _satisfied_ for the first time in, well, three years. She stretched luxuriantly, like a contented cat, remembering the touch of him against her skin and deep inside her. She had wanted to crawl up inside of him even as his body penetrated hers and she'd shattered around him. A little frisson of excitement ran down her spine as she felt the slight soreness he'd left behind from the passion of their lovemaking. She wondered if her body had felt different to him because she'd had a baby. She'd wanted him so badly it had become a physical ache, and even her genuine joy in her baby son had always been tinged with sadness at knowing his father might never know him, or even know for sure he existed. She'd made the best of her situation and had come to love James and Cesco as beloved brothers and best friends, but that had never stopped her from yearning to raise her son with his father at her side. It had never stopped her from needing him as a woman needs a man, and as the only man she knew with total conviction she would ever, or could ever love.

She sleepily arose, pulled on a robe, and rang for a breakfast tray. She was rarely allowed out of her confinement, taking all her meals in the tower and only occasionally allowed out in the courtyard to take a little exercise. Worse, she was only rarely allowed to see her son, and she feared he would start to forget her and begin to prefer his nurse instead, who at least was a kind woman. There was no option. Killian had to succeed, and they had to rescue Jamie and escape this cursed prison.

Walking over to the window overlooking the harbor, she peered out just in time to see the first of the five ships that had arrived the previous day departing. Killian's ship was the last to depart, after the men he had sent to secure the town during his stay had returned in small bands. At first she was puzzled, then alarmed. Then, she relaxed as she realized the departure was a strategic subterfuge by Killian. By departing the capital and proceeding further down the coast to conduct his raids, he reduced the chances that Titus would deploy a large force to liberate his capital from the corsairs. Or that Titus would send orders to have Jamie or herself moved to prevent their possible capture. Clever boy, she thought to herself, smiling. All she could do was wait it out.

The boring day mercifully passed and Emma, restless, gave up on the book she was pretending to read and went to bed. She had confirmed her earlier suspicions by sending Vorenus down to the dock to learn what was going on after he had concluded his shift as her "guard". When he'd returned, he told her that the townspeople were ablaze with the story that their Princess had pleaded with the pirate captain for mercy and her request had been granted. They had sailed away and would trouble them no more. Apparently the story had spread to the garrison in the fortress as their high alert order had subsequently been cancelled. Killian had spoken to Vorenus personally and sent word that he would be coming for her when the time was right. Tired from her late night the previous evening and fatigued from fretting and worry, she drifted into a deep sleep.

It seemed like only minutes later she awakened with a start to find a hand pressing against her mouth to keep her from screaming and a man on top of her. Momentarily alarmed, she realized a second later it was Killian. Initially, she was flooded with joy only to be flooded with fear and anger seconds later.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed at him between kisses, her arms twining around him and pulling up his shirt as he pulled down the coverlet to get better access to her.

"What do you think?" he hissed back, his greedy lips and tongue tracing a line from her earlobe down her neck.

"I think you're insane! I thought you sailed away! This is way too risky—" he shut her up by covering her lips with his and pulling up her nightdress.

"How did you even get in?" she demanded, trying to push him away, impatient for explanations.

"Grappling hook on the window and climbed up, of course. You told me no one was watching," he reminded her.

"Where are you hiding?" she demanded, glaring at him.

"I'm hiding at an abandoned house in the forest not far from here," he explained breaking away. "Did you really think I'd be able to stay away from you?" He pulled down her gown and began kissing and nipping at her breasts. She stifled a moan and arched her back, wanting him to bite harder. She tugged impatiently at his shirt, and he paused long enough to take it off and toss it aside. She pulled her gown off and he began to lower himself onto her again but she stopped him.

"I want to look at you," she whispered, running her hands from his shoulders, down his chest, and along his belly, reveling in the feel of the soft hair on his chest and the ripple of his taut muscles under her light fingers. When she reached the V of his belly, she reached inside his pants to grasp his rigid shaft, enjoying the heavy feel of it, the soft straining skin as he pulsated in her eager hand. She squeezed him hard as he moaned, his head lolling back and his breathing became ragged.

Withdrawing her hand, she pushed him over on his back and began to lick his chest, lapping up the salty sweat of his skin and biting at his nipples with her sharp teeth, eliciting a muffled groan in response. Slowly, relishing the sweet taste and spicy of smell of him, she began moving down his belly, which she had always found unendurably sexy, intending to take him in her mouth. Before she could reach him, he suddenly stopped her, pulled her up, and flipped them so that he was on top. He roughly pulled her legs apart and glided down her body.

"Lie back, I want to taste you," he commanded as he felt the scratch of his beard against the sensitive insides of her thighs.. She fell back willingly as he carefully parted her flesh and began to tease and suck at her until she was gasping with pleasure, her legs beginning to tremble as she clenched around him. Over and over he teased her, inserting his fingers in her and curling against the spot that drove her nearly out of her mind and then withdrawing his touch just as she felt herself on the precipice.

She was on the point of begging when, sensing her entreaty, he whispered "Come for me, Emma, come for me now!" as he thrust his fingers inside her and curled them forcefully, then sucked her swollen, quivering flesh until she fell apart, quieting her screams by biting the pillow and digging her nails into his hair.

It seemed to go on and on as she rode wave after wave of mind numbing sensation, her body given over to him, her mind filled with him, the world outside stilled and stopped. Just when she thought it was over, another giant wave would swell and pull her under, until, weak and trembling, she begged him to stop because she couldn't take it anymore and her thighs were cramping. She could hear him laughing a self-satisfied little chuckle as he continued to stroke her gently. He was enjoying his power over her, the bastard!

When she finally came to her senses, she pulled him up to her, then as forcefully as she could, pushed them over and began again to work her way down his chest and belly. But just as she began to tease him with her tongue, he stopped her again. She ignored him and kept going until he shocked her by whispering fiercely "I mean it, Emma, stop that!"

Surprised and a little hurt and confused, she threw herself on her back beside him, breathing hard. Then she rolled onto her side and glared at him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Since when do you NOT want me to go down on you?"

He looked away, embarrassed, his erection rapidly subsiding.

"Well?" she demanded, her hand on his chest.

He hesitated, seeming to search for the right words. "I don't think it would be entirely….proper," he finished lamely, closing his eyes and looking away.

"_Proper?"_ she said incredulously, "since when was it ever 'proper'?" What had gotten into him?

Then, suddenly she got it.

"It's the baby, isn't it? You feel differently toward me because I'm the mother of your child, not just your mistress, is that it?" she pulled away, lay on her back, and stared at the ceiling, contemplating his unexpected, yet wholly characteristic inhibitions.

"Yes. No. I don't know," he said, confused. "It's just that, I don't know, Emma, those lips kiss my children!" He covered his eyes with his hand.

She couldn't help but laugh at him, just a little.

In truth, Killian had been in some turmoil since she dropped her little bombshell on him. She'd had three years to get used to the idea of being a parent, he'd had 24 hours and he hadn't even seen or touched his son yet. It wasn't that he didn't desire her as ardently as ever – more, if that were possible – but he did regard her differently. She wasn't just the object of his love and desire, she was a sacred _vessel._ He looked at her with awe and reverence, and with some bewilderment as to how he was to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.

"It's just that…" he groped for the right words, "I've always thought of you - magical, beautiful, brilliant creature you are – as far above the likes of me. But now, you seem a _goddess_, and I'm a mere mortal." He gestured with his hands, raising them high as he described her, then lowering them.

"Do you know the difference between a mortal and a goddess?" he asked her seriously.

When I walk I make footprints in the wet sand. But you…." he trailed off then. "You're a heavenly being, so you don't form in the sand." He turned to look at her, reaching over to trace her face gently with his fingers, as if trying to confirm she was real.

She gave him an indulgent look, then mischievously bit his fingers. "Oh, I'm still mortal, but perhaps we've both attained a kind of immortality through our son?"

He nodded soberly, thoughtful. "Tis true in my land they say a man without a son is a man without a future, so I suppose you're my ship to the future, the carrier of precious cargo. You've already helped me escape my past."

"Do I feel different?" she murmured, pulling his hand to her and placing it on her belly.

"A bit," he admitted, running his hand over her belly and breasts and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "More rounded and voluptuous than the virgin I first seduced. More soft and yielding than when we first made love."

She rolled towards him and began caressing him lightly and carefully. He responded immediately to her touch. She could feel him becoming aroused again.

"It's a lot to take in, I realize," she said softly, "do you still want me?"

"Obviously," he said. His voice was slightly sarcastic. A good sign, she thought. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, she slunk down his body until she could take him in her mouth, one hand wrapping around the base of his shaft and the other pressing firmly against his thigh. He didn't protest this time. She kept up her gentle motions and soft hums until he arched up against her and began thrusting gently into the back of her throat. Relaxing around him, she slowly took him in and he groaned softly as her throat constricted.

The sensations overwhelmed him and his eyes rolled back into his head as he gasped for breath. He felt his cock twitching as he wound his hands in her hair. He could feel an explosive orgasm building. "Gods, Emma, I do love you," he choked out brokenly as he spurted his hot release violently down her throat.

After she cleaned him up, she stretched her body over his and kissed him. They could taste themselves on the lips of the other and she sighed happily. He ran his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" she teased. He laughed, and gave her a playful slap on her backside in response.

"Please, I'm 300 years old, I'm a little old-fashioned," he said, contented. "But by the same token, it's a shock. I'm adjusting to it. I'm bursting with male pride, obviously." He sounded smug.

"You'll understand when you meet him," Emma said, reassured. She was not at all worried. She knew him. She had always known him. She couldn't say how, as they had in truth been together, physically, for a scant period of time. But she did. And she knew exactly what to expect. She could _see_ him. And he had seen her from their very first dance, when he had been, apparently, a stranger. No point in pretending.

"_You, sir, are no gentleman," she'd said._

"_And you, miss, are no lady," he'd replied. Gods, she had loved him from the very first minute._

They lay quietly together for a long time, he full of questions about his son. What had the pregnancy been like for her alone? Was the birth very painful? What were his first words? His favorite toys?

He shook his head, amazed, as she tried to pull every little memory she'd carefully preserved and hoarded like precious jewels, hoping and praying she would one day be able to share them with him, to let him see Jamie through her eyes.

"He's terribly stubborn," she explained, "and 'no' is just about his favorite word. I can't think where he gets it from." They both laughed together. "But he's terribly curious intellectually, always tugging at me, then pointing and wanting to know what to call things. And he wants me to read and tell him stories all the time," she continued.

"What's his favorite story?" Killian wondered, his thumb absently stroking the palm of her hand.

"Why, The Princess and The Pirate, of course," she said, fondly, patting his cheek. "He'll be thrilled to meet Captain Hook!"

"I don't suppose you've taught him fencing yet?" he asked her impishly, a smile playing across his handsome features.

"Sometimes I let him play with a wooden one, but he's still a bit dangerous, and far too physically daring for his own safety!" Emma shuddered, remembering his more fearless feats of climbing, not to mention his fascination with any sharp object.

"Ah, yes, can't have him losing an eye at his age, though I suppose an eye patch could be quite dashing… ." he joked.

"I can see you'll be a terrible influence, " she declared, kissing his cheek and laughing with him. "Besides, he has such beautiful blue eyes, just as his father does… ." She raised herself above him and gazed intently into his eyes, as lost in them now as she had been that very first time.

"Gods, we'll have a terrible time when the lassies start to chase him then," Killian grinned at her, pushing her hair back from her face.

"Yes, we wouldn't ever want our son to become as insufferably _vain_ as his father, " Emma pretended to give him a severe look then flopped on her back again, snaking her hand to his belly and stroking down the soft hair of his belly to his groin.

He lay quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of her hand exploring him. But now he rolled over onto her, his arousal pressing against her thigh. "Ready to go again?" he said, impishly, one eyebrow cocked just the way she loved.

"Always," she said, tenderly, stroking his cheek with her hand.

The dawn light was just breaking when she stirred, shoving the sleeping form draped around her.

"You've got to get out of here. It's dangerous. Wake up!" she shook him violently.

Nudged out of his sleep, Killian dressed quickly, then stumbled back to the window and secured the grappling hook. Returning to the bed, he kissed her soundly, promising to return and telling her not to worry. She did worry. He rappelled successfully out of the window and down. She held her breath and all was quiet for a few moments.

Then suddenly, all hell broke loose. She heard a commotion and ran to the window, peering our furtively.

_Oh Gods save us all_, she thought, _they've caught him._ She felt her heart drop right out onto the floor. She could have borne anything, anything to save him. But she could not bear for him to be hurt.

They must have been waiting. She closed her eyes and waited, hearing the thundering footsteps as they came closer and closer to her door to take her too.

**THANK YOU FOR READING. PLEASE PM ME OR LEAVE A REVIEW WITH YOUR FEEDBACK.**

* _Can't stop listening obsessively this week to the Red Hot Chili Peppers albums with John Frusciante._


	23. All I Ever Wanted Was Your Life

Chapter 23: _All I Ever Wanted Was Your Life_

Emma's heart pounded as she heard the heavy key clank inside the lock to the sturdy door that held her prisoner. An instant later, two guards burst inside.

Emma drew a robe around herself with trembling fingers, then composed herself and held her head up, a contemptuous look on her face.

"How dare you burst in here in this manner!" she flung out imperiously, her voice haughty. "Does not my rank and position entitle me to common courtesy at the very least?"

The young guards looked sheepish and stopped dead in their tracks, regarding her. "A thousand apologies, Your Highness," the older one said, "We had a report that an intruder was seen leaving your room and we hastened here to assure your safety."

"I saw no intruder, and I've been sound asleep. Or I _was_ sound asleep until you disturbed me with this fracas," she finished in a petulant, injured voice. She had made an instant decision to buy time by pleading ignorance and innocence. She cursed herself for not having worked out a cover story with Killian in advance for just such a disaster. Now they would both have to wing it and hope neither managed to contradict the other.

Seeming satisfied, the young guards departed, and she flew to her window and cautiously peered down below. Although there were clear signs of a scuffle, there was no one to be seen. Either they'd dragged him off to the dungeons or he'd gotten away and they had followed in pursuit.

She dressed hastily and brushed the tangles Killian's roving hands had left in her long golden locks. She was just splashing water on her face and preparing to ring for breakfast when another knock sounded. This time, the Captain of the King's Guard stood outside, a baleful expression on his face.

"Lady, I am ordered to escort you to the Throne Room at once," he informed her, not unkindly, but taking her by the arm and pulling her through the door.

"Thank you, Captain, but I can walk on my own," she answered regally. They were followed closely by four other guardsmen.

He gave her a brief, understanding smile, but kept his grip on her arm.

"Captain, why are we going to the Throne Room? The King is not in residence," Emma asked.

Her stomach flipped over at his next words.

"The King returned late last night," he said shortly, and without further conversation, they traversed the long, dank halls the castle until they came to the Throne Room, an ugly long hall bristling with weaponry all along the walls and a large, rather hideous baroque carved bronze chair on a raised dais at one end of the room.

Emma entered with her head held high, ready to bluff it out. She walked silently but regally toward the throne where King Titus sat waiting for her, his customary scowl in place, looking even more angry than usual. Pausing several feet below, Emma sank into a formal court curtsey.

"You wished to see me, Your Majesty?" she stated simply, eyes lowered.

"Bring forth the prisoner!" Titus bawled out, looking to his right.

Emma kept her face still as she saw two guards drag Killian in between them, his hands in chains. Her heart contracted with fear at the sight of him and she quaked inside, but she prayed to control herself outwardly.

Titus dismissed the guards, who bowed low and left the room. Then he turned to Emma. "This man was captured climbing down from your room earlier this morning," Titus said in a low, tight voice. "Is he known to you?"

Emma allowed her eyes to flicker casually in Killian's direction, careful to suppress any trace of familiarity or recognition. "No, I've never seen him before in my life. And I was asleep until wakened by the guard," she said in a bored tone.

"You are telling me you have absolutely no idea who this man is, or what he was doing in your chamber?" he pressed in a skeptical voice.

"Certainly not! All I can think is that he might have been trying to steal my jewels?" She threw that last out with a quick glance at Killian.

He picked up on it immediately. "The Lady is perfectly correct, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, no trace of fear in his voice. "In fact, I am an agent of the Dark One, sent here to retrieve a magic amulet that he believes the Princess may have acquired accidentally. I apologize if I have alarmed her or insulted you, Majesty, that was neither my nor the Dark One's intent. And as I know you have no quarrel with the Dark One and no wish to be in conflict with him, I ask only that you let me go on my way peacefully."

Titus raised his eyebrows at this. "And if I send word to the Dark One asking him to corroborate your story, he will do so?"

"Yes," Killian said unequivocally. Emma wondered whether he was actually sure, or whether he was just buying time. In any case, it just might work, or work well enough that he'd be relegated to the dungeons and she could arrange for his escape at a propitious moment.

"And this amulet you speak of, do you know what he is talking about, Princess?" Titus turned back to her, frowning and leaning forward on this throne.

"It may be among the many, many jewels I received as gifts on the blessed occasion of my marriage into your family," Emma said truthfully, "But in all honesty most of them were so extremely unsuitable, dare I say ugly, that I've a box full of things I've barely looked at in several years. Perhaps I should, though, as such an amulet could actually be dangerous?" She looked at him anxiously, her face all innocence and concern.

"Hmmmm," Titus muttered, rising from the throne and pacing back and forth between Emma and Killian.

"I've no wish to quarrel with the Dark One, and I've other pressing matters on my mind and no time to waste on a petty thief in any event," he said at last, dismissively to Killian. "I'll have the guards take you to the dungeons and I'll consider the matter at a later date." He turned to summon the guards, waiting just outside.

Just as Emma was preparing to let out an inward sigh of deeply grateful relief, however, a melodious female voice rang out from the shadows behind the heavy throne.

"I wouldn't be so hasty if I were you, Your Majesty," the woman said as she glided gracefully from the shadows to stand beside the King. She was an older woman with long dark hair, still beautiful, dressed all in red.

Emma felt herself begin to tremble at the sight. She had only seen her once before, just before her formal wedding ceremony to Prince James. But she knew enough to fear her even more than Titus.

It was the woman they called the Red Witch, the fearsome sorceress who had assisted Titus in his wars against her parents and the Western Kingdoms. She had quarreled with Titus at the time of the wedding because she disagreed with his decision to make peace through the marriage of James and Emma, and she also disagreed with his decision to make war on the Sakkaran Empire to the East. In that last bit of political advice, Emma thought to herself bitterly, he would have been well advised to have listened.

Now apparently, the breach had been healed and she had returned to his side in evident favor again.

"What do you mean?" Titus turned to her, a questioning look on this face.

"Just that I may know a few things that might shed light on this situation," she said smoothly, her skirts swishing as she bypassed the king and crossed the room to stand directly in front of Killian.

"Hello, Hook," she said, a smug little smile playing across her features.

"Cora," he nodded, his lips tight. She knew him! Emma quailed at this. But how?

"Got your hand back, I see," she said, pointing at his left hand.

"Your Majesty," she said, turning back to Titus, "Let me explain exactly who this is. This man is none other than the infamous pirate, Captain Hook. I first met him when my daughter, Regina, sent him to try to kill him. He failed, of course," she threw a triumphant glance at Killian then, who looked up at the ceiling as though the entire matter did not concern him."

Emma was chilled to the bone at the realization that the mysterious Red Witch was none other than Regina's monstrous mother Cora, long thought to have been dead, even by her estranged daughter. She mentally registered that in addition to saving Killian, she needed to get urgent warming to her parents and Regina.

Titus was still gawping at Cora, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, his face reddening as she spoke.

Cora gave him a brief, indulgent smile before continuing with her conversation. "You may remember him, Your Majesty, as the pirate who kidnapped your prospective daughter-in-law and her dowry on her voyage here and held them for ransom. And I'm guessing he might also to be the commander of the corsairs who recently have been raiding your shores."

Titus lowered his head like a bull about to charge. "Why you thieving, pirate scum! Well, you'll find out exactly what we do to filth like you in Vargos! You'll wish you'd never have been born by the time we're done with you…..you'll beg us to kill you…." he spluttered, too angry to continue with his diatribe.

"Your Majesty, the seizure of the Princess' ship was a diplomatic, erm, _error,_ that was resolved successfully by the Lady Livia of Pontus. The Princess and her dowry were returned to you unharmed and it was agreed the matter was to be considered closed forever," Killian interjected. "No harm done, bygones be bygones," he continued insouciantly.

"Shut up, you impudent scoundrel!" Titus roared, fuming. "If the matter is closed, as you suggest, then I fail to understand what you were doing breaking into the Princess' chambers unless you intended to kidnap her again."

"I beg you to calm down, Your Majesty," Cora soothed, "you'll bring on a fit of apoplexy. Besides, there _is_ a reason he was caught breaking into her room."

Titus stood there mutely, trying to compose himself, his eyes darting at Emma suspiciously, his hands clutching at the few strands of hair he had left to him.

"Don't look at her, Your Majesty," Cora suggested, her voice almost seductive, "Why don't you take a closer look at the pirate. Take a good, long look. Go on, now."

Startled and a little bewildered, Titus shuffled over to Killian and began peering into his face suspiciously, looking for what he knew not what.

Emma's heart was in her throat for she knew exactly what Cora was about, and was powerless to stop her. She was holding her breath and trying to still her racing heart when the King suddenly started, then wheeled around to face Cora and Emma behind him, his face livid with rage and sudden comprehension.

"No!" he whispered in a strangled voice.

"Yes." Cora confirmed, triumph across her face. "He was her lover. Still _is _her lover! And the boy who will inherit your Kingdom is _his _son, not your grandson! Did I not tell you not to trust a marriage alliance with the daughter of Snow White?" she sneered.

Titus rounded on Emma then, seizing her with his huge hammy hand and hitting her hard several times across the face and shaking her so hard her teeth and her head rattled like a limp rag doll. "You filthy whore!" he roared at her, raining down blows, "passing off your bastard pirate get on my family! I'll kill all of you, including your bastard! And then I'll kill every fucking member of your family until there's no one left!"

"Leave her alone, you coward!" roared Killian, running at Titus and throwing the chain linking his cuffs around his neck and jerking tight. As he garotted Titus, the King's face turned purple until Cora breezily waived a hand and threw Killian against the wall , where he landed with a hard smack, momentarily dazing him.

Titus stood gasping and Emma, suddenly released when Killian attacked, had sunk to her hands and knees and was trying to recover her senses after the beating she had received.

Only Cora remained serene and eerily calm amid the violent furor.

"Your Majesty, you may choose to do whatever you wish with these two, it's not my concern. Personally, I'd suggest you make a public example of them – does the common people good to know that they will be punished for their crimes against you - but you'll leave the boy unharmed," she said authoritatively. At this, both, Killian and Emma, dazed as they were, instantly looked at her with a mixture of relief and trepidation. What manner of mischief was this?

"And why would that be," Titus said, recovering his ability to speak at last, had sunk back onto the throne.

Instead of answering him immediately, she turned and gave Emma a cool, appraising look. "You really didn't know, did you?" she said in an almost pitying voice.

Then she turned back to address Titus. "You won't kill the boy because he has powerful magic – magic that I can train in the dark arts, and that both you and I can use to achieve our own ends."

"No!" Killian and Emma both burst out spontaneously, all pretense dropped, frantic, unconcealed fear for their child erasing their earlier bluster. They both began babbling protests, promises, threats, and blandishments in hopes of finding a way, any way, to interest Cora or Titus in an alternative that did not involve either murdering their child or turning him into a dark wizard.

"Silence!" Titus suddenly thundered. Cora waived her hand again, silencing and freezing Killian and Emma in place.

"Why do you say the boy has magic," he demanded, rising from the throne and striding towards Cora.

"Simple. He's the product of True Love, twice over, and True Love is, as the Dark One will be the first to confirm for you, the most powerful magic there is," she explained with an airy wave. "And I've seen it in him myself."

Titus snorted. "True Love! What a load of horseshit it sounds. Besides, I assumed he raped her and she was too shamed to confess it, though that still makes her a whore."

"Oh he loves her, alright," Cora laughed, waiving her hand suddenly and unfreezing Killian and Emma. Without another thought, Emma ran to Killian and embraced him, anxious to confirm he was all right. "And, as you can see, she loves him in return. I'm guessing he's already got her pregnant again, that's how strong it runs with them." She leered at them.

"Low born pirate scum! How could she?" Titus began fuming again.

"Oh, but he has a pretty face, he's not without charm, and I'm _not at all sure_ that he is low-born, are you, my pretty boy," Cora said, chucking him under the chin as if he were a child.

Killian gave her a sullen glare in return, moving his body between Cora and Emma protectively, his chains rattling.

Titus had had enough and summoned the guards, who hurried in to await his bidding.

"Take the Princess to the dungeon. Take this pirate to the yard and tie him to the whipping post. I will lash him myself. Then, in two days time, at the Autumn Solstice Festival, the pirate will be hung, drawn and quartered in the public square. The Princess will watch his death, and then she will be burned at the stake for treason and adultery.

Emma nearly fainted with fear and horror then, and swayed dangerously, but Killian managed to steady her with his manacled hands. "Don't lose faith," he whispered urgently to her. Throwing all caution to the winds, he bent down and kissed her on the lips. "I love you," he said, as the guards dragged him away.

"I love you too, Killian," Emma said in an agonized voice. Then she felt another blow to her head and she fell into merciful darkness.

**THANKS FOR FOLLOWING, FAVORITING AND READING. PLEASE CHECK OUT MY NEW FIC SAVING PRINCE KILLIAN! I THINK I MAY NEED TO CHANGE IT FROM A T TO AN M – THOUGHTS? THINGS ARE GETTING STEAMY!**

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